


It Could All Be So Simple

by clarkedarling



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Pining, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-04 13:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14594433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkedarling/pseuds/clarkedarling
Summary: The theatre desperately needs money, and Phillip's only solution is to trick his parents into thinking he's gotten engaged. With the promise of a holiday away, Anne agrees to help. However, what happens when they discover that the feelings they're both faking . . . aren't really fake at all?





	1. EPILOGUE.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to start this, and I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> (The link, if you're interested, for the dance Anne's performing is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLeROXsGvAA)

* * *

_Dear Phillip,_

_As I am sure you have already been informed, your good friend Spencer Holbrook is engaged, and that he expects you to be his best man. I hope that you know that I spent a very tiresome brunch with his mother to ensure that you got an invite to that wedding. You have squandered your reputation and social status so frivolously long enough now, and I have taken it upon myself to give you this opportunity to return back to high society. Attending this wedding will give you a chance to spend some time with some truly influential individuals, and for you to prove that you have not transformed into one of the theatre freaks you are insistent upon cavorting with._

_I implore you to understand that this is also a chance to prove to your father and I that you are fit to carry the Carlyle name, and in time the inheritance. By this, I mean we would like to see that you have since grown up, and have turned into a professional and serious man - not the ‘Playboy Playwright’ we read about in the newspapers. We would like to believe that you are committed to something other than your silly theatre. Perhaps a fiancé of your own?_

_To show you that we are completely serious about how proposition, you will receive a transfer of ten grand in your bank account after the wedding, if you convince us that you have matured and are capable of behaving like an adult._

_Kind regards,  
Mathilda Carlyle_

Sighing, Phillip slammed the laptop down. His mother never ceased to surprise him. His parents had resorted to some cheap tactics in order to sway him back to their way of life, but this was a new low. Phillip would have deleted the email immediately, if it hadn’t been for the pile of bills on his desktop, seemingly growing every day.

Hanging his head in his hands, he despised how he was even dwelling on his mother’s cold, but articulate, email. However, given the present climate, there seemed to be no other solution. The theatre was suffering. Ticket sales, though ever fruitful, hadn’t been enough to pay for the hole in the roof, and they had to rely on the proceeds raised by a benefit. Then, as a result of one of P. T.’s harebrained, money-spinning schemes, they found themselves in severe debt after being unable to pay back multiple bank loans when Jenny Lind exited her tour mid-way through. Dancers’ wages were starting to add up, and Phillip feared he would have to start letting people go.

This lifeline was starting to sound very appealing.

Suddenly, Phillip heard the start of some music playing out of the speakers, and sat up straight. It was _Broken Clocks_ , by SZA. From his office he could see the whole stage, his large windows giving him full view. He spotted three women lying on the floor, all in heels, and only when they began to dance did he recognise them. The girl on the left was Patsey Wallis, her hair braided and beautiful, and the girl on the left was Queenie Lawson, her hair in a dainty buzzcut. Both had dark skin, and bright eyes.

In the middle, however, was Anne Wheeler. Her hair was curly and loose, falling about her face. She was breathtaking, even in her basic workout clothes. Phillip couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as they danced, captivated by her every movement. The dance was feisty, and full of sass. Every action told a story, and was so layered with rich talent and meaning that Phillip could barely believe that Anne had struggled to find work before auditioning for the theatre.

The moves were also incredibly provocative and enticing, that his breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to beat erratically. The way she moved her hips, and kicked her legs, was not helping to minimise his infatuation for her at all.

He hears a cough, and snaps his head to the doorway where he finds Lettie stood watching him, arms crossed. Her eyes flitted between Anne, who had just finished up dancing, and Phillip, and she hummed low in her throat, shaking her head.

“You couldn’t make it any more obvious you like her,” she sighed.

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Phillip tried to dismiss the claims. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered, pretending to busy himself with the stack of paperwork threatening to topple over on his desk. “Me and Anne are just co-workers. Dare I even say friends."

Lettie smirked, as she crossed the room. “There’s three girls down there and you just assumed I meant Anne,” she informed him, matter-of-factly. “Boy, have you got it bad."

Cursing himself for his slip-up, Phillip caved. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Maybe I do harbour some feelings towards her. Doesn’t mean anything is going to happen."

Despite his best efforts to get closer to Anne, she always found a way to hold him at arm’s length. They never did anything just the two of them outside of work, only going out as part of a group for dinner or a show. When she was alone with him in the theatre, the pair would be poring over stage and costume designs, or schedules, or dance rehearsals that they barely had time to talk about one another. Most of the time, her brother was there too, and W. D. Wheeler was as protective of his little sister as Phillip was intimidated by him. The dancer was six foot two, with muscles the size of bricks; there was no way Phillip would ever desire to get on the wrong side of him.

“Well shit, something better,” Lettie told him, gesturing to the stage. Anne was mopping the sweat from her brow with a towel, as a few of the male dancer approached the girls to compliment them on the new dance. Quite a few had little control over their eyes, and in particular where their eyes were roaming. Phillip felt a surge of jealousy, jealousy he wasn’t entitled to possess. “Anne’s a great girl, and if you don’t say something to her, somebody else is going to get her."

Though he hadn’t wanted to admit it before, Phillip knew Lettie was right. He had to do something about his feelings for Anne, or watch her with other men the rest of his life.

Whilst he was distracted thinking about how best to approach the topic of a date with Anne, Lettie swiped his laptop from under his nose, and opened it up. Before Phillip could grab it back, Lettie had skimmed the email at an impressive speed, and turned to look at him with wide eyes.

“Some mother you have,” was all she could say.

“Mathilda Carlyle isn’t used to hearing no,” Phillip replied.

Lettie’s eyes scanned his desk, and saw all the envelopes stamped **urgent**. Phillip didn’t bother to hide them from her, for Lettie Lutz was an intelligent woman, and a persuasive one too. She was going to get the information she wanted one way or the other.

Folding her arms, she regarded Phillip with narrowed eyes. “So what are you going to tell her?"

Phillip shrugged, huffing. He hadn’t a clue what his reply to his mother was going to entail, and whether he was even going to reply in the first place. The terms to earning the ten grand were demanding, and would require telling quite a few tall tales. “I can’t go to this wedding,” Phillip finally said, adamant on one thing. “If I go by myself, I’ll undoubtedly be roped into some unspeakable stunts by Spencer and the others, and I’ve always had a terrible track record of saying no. And I haven’t exactly got a fiancé, have I? My parents will see me, still a mess and still single, and the whole trip will have been a waste of time."

“Find a girl to pretend then. You’ll have somebody to rein you in, and somebody to introduce to mom and dad."

“Who could I ask? Who would be willing to travel all the way to Jamaica with me to pretend to be my fiancé for a whole week just so I don’t slip up and get horrendously drunk and make a fool out of myself?"

Lettie grinned. “Ask Anne,” she recommended, a knowing glint in her eye. “Lord knows she needs a holiday."

“Ask me what, Mr Carlyle? And what’s this about a holiday?"

Phillip’s breath hitched in his throat. Anne was stood in the doorway, hand on her hip and head cocked. His eyes drank her in like a man starved for years. Her skin glistened with sweat, and her eyes held an inquisitive gleam. Her black leggings were figure-hugging, and her loose-fitting white t-shirt was tied in a knot at the hem. She was unbelievably attractive, even after a rigorous workout.

Raising her eyebrow, she waited for Phillip to answer, as Lettie left the room, squeezing Anne’s hand.

“Oh, well . . . I was wondering . . . um . . . only if you want to . . . I wouldn’t expect . . . um . . . " Anne’s presence had a resounding effect upon him, so much so that more often than not he found himself tongue-tied, and unable to string a coherent sentence together.

As she edged towards him, arms folded across her chest, he realised he was making a fool out of himself and tried to get a grip. “I’ve been invited to a wedding,” he finally spluttered. “Well, I’m the best man. I’d go alone, but . . . I fear I’d slip into my old ways far too easily. Lettie suggested I ask you if you’d like to . . . be my guest?"

Anne’s expression changed into something unreadable, as her jaw dropped. “You want me to go with you?"

Her voice was dripping in honey, sweet and sultry, that Phillip wanted nothing more than to pack her bags for her. He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Only if you want to, of course."

A grin broke out onto her face, and Phillip let out a sigh of relief. “I’d love to,” she told him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “When and where is it?"

“Well, it’s in two days,” he replied. “And it’s a week away in Jamaica."

Anne’s eyes lit up, and her jaw dropped even further. “ _Jamaica?_ "

Whilst Anne asked him question after question about the wedding, and the trip, he walked her out the building and offered her a lift home in his car. She beamed again, and his heart skipped a beat. Holding the door open for her, he watched as she regarded the sports car with wide eyes, cautious about touching anything. It was cute, to see her so in awe of something, like a child at a theme park. Phillip couldn’t help but consider what her reaction to the five star hotel was going to be like.

The car ride to Hell’s Kitchen from Broadway was a short one - in truth, Anne perhaps could have walked home and been quicker, given the amount of traffic on the road. Nevertheless, Phillip enjoyed his time with her. She was electric, her happiness infectious. She was curious to know everything about the wedding; how many guests were attending, how did Phillip know the couple, what food were they going to serve. Her questions were quirky, and made him laugh out loud.

Phillip wanted nothing more than for Anne’s excitement to be about him, and about the prospect of going _with him_ , but he knew that her smile had everything to do with the holiday. He hadn’t expected anything less, but it still stung a little.

They pulled up outside her apartment building, and Phillip looked up at the fading brick structure, and couldn’t help but be taken aback by the poor slum-like conditions Anne was living in. Windows were cracked, the drainpipe was hanging from the wall, and the roof was crumbling. Hell’s Kitchen was an up-and-coming district in New York, it’s once gritty reputation diminishing as the area was slowly gentrified by the big wigs from the city, rent prices rising. It appeared Anne’s apartment was the last remnants of the neighbourhood’s humble past.

Just as Anne turned to open the door, thanking him for the ride, he reached out to place a hand over hers. A spark fizzled between them, and Phillip watched as Anne’s eyes trailed from their hands to his eyes. The dark, mahogany orbs held that same unreadable expression they had earlier, and so he pulled away.

“There’s something I need to mention,” he began, slowly. He was very cautious of what words he chose, afraid he could scare her off. “My parents . . . they’re going to be there. It wouldn’t be an issue, except I told them I had a fiancé."

 _Just a little white lie_ , Phillip told himself. He couldn’t tell Anne the real reason why he needed to masquerade an engagement, not parked outside her decaying and poverty-stricken apartment building. To admit that the theatre was dangerously short of money would no doubt overcome Anne with worry, who he knew to be an over-thinker at the best of times. He couldn’t put that kind of pressure on her. It wouldn’t be fair.

Anne’s eyebrows knitted together, and he could see her mind whirring over his words. “Why would you do that?"

“Well, there was a heated argument,” Phillip answered, his aptitude for story-telling coming in extraordinarily handy. “I knew they were disappointed in me, I’ve always known. But this time . . . they told me that I’d failed them. That I was no son of theirs. My mother admitted that my choice to take up with the theatre had brought shame on the family, and that I was making them unwell. So, I told them that I’d gotten engaged. I just blurted it out. I wanted them to see me as the man I’ve become; mature and stable. It worked too. They told me they were proud that I’d managed to find a nice girl. I haven’t the heart to let them down again."

His tale, though falsified as it was, held some authenticity to it. His parents were disappointed with him, and had told him numerous times that he was no son of theirs. By showing them he was grown-up enough to start a family, they would indeed see him in a different light. Though he felt guilty lying to Anne, the lie wasn’t that far from the truth.

She surprised him by taking his hand in hers, and squeezing, reassuringly. It was a gentle gesture meant to comfort him. “That’s awful,” she muttered, shaking her head. She then took a few seconds to speak again, as though mulling over her next sentence. "You’re asking me to pretend to be your fiancé?"

“If it’s too much to ask of you, I’ll understand - "

“Of course I’ll help you,” she cut him off, with a sweet smile. Anne had the biggest heart of anyone he knew, and it was one of many qualities of hers he adored. “I’ll talk it over with W. D. of course, but I ain’t letting him stop me from getting a holiday to Jamaica."

She laughed, and glanced out the window. “I better go. Knowing my neighbours, they'd take your wheels if you’re parked here too long."

Phillip wanted to say that Anne was teasing him, but from the tone of her voice he knew she wasn’t. She opened the door, and climbed out of the car, her gym bag swinging by her side. She climbed the steps to the front door, and before she began typing in the passcode, she turned to wave at Phillip, beaming brightly. Phillip waved back, and waited for her to go inside before driving off.

He wasn’t sure it was possible for your heart to beat out of your chest, but it certainly felt like it was possible.

* * *

“What do you mean you’re going to Jamaica?"

Anne knew she was going to have difficulty getting her brother on board with the idea of her disappearing across the world for a week with their employer, but the expression on W. D.’s face spelt trouble.

“Mr Carlyle invited me to his friend's wedding,” Anne explained, slowly. She was watching W. D.’s reaction unfold with deep scrutiny. “It’s for a week. He’s worried about going alone, and the peer pressure that's gonna come along - "

“So you’re his arm candy then?” W. D. interrupted, eyebrows furrowed.

Rolling her eyes, Anne sighed. “No, it ain’t like that,” she told him. “I’m gonna look out for him. Make sure he doesn’t slip up, and in return I get a holiday to Jamaica."

In truth, Anne had butterflies when she thought about Phillip. When he had asked her to come along, every nerve in her body tingled, as though filled with electricity. She may be going because Phillip needed a girl to pretend to be his fiancé, but some small part of her hoped that he wanted her there. That he couldn’t imagine any other girl with him in Jamaica.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” her brother began, crossing his arms. “The idea of you going all the way to Jamaica with a man you barely know - "

“I know Mr Carlyle! And, I know what I’m doing!” Anne cried, exasperated with her brother.

It was no use. W. D. wasn’t listening to a word she was saying. Throwing her hands up in the air, Anne shook her head and marched into her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. It was her signature move as an impulsive and ill-tempered teenager, and she knew that it always had the desired effect. Wishing seconds, W. D. was knocking on the wooden frame, stepping into her room with a sheepish look on his face.

Perching himself on the end of her bed, he gave her a small smile. “I’ll have to talk to him about it, make sure you’ll be alright,” he told her, calmly. “But, I ain’t got an issue with you going. You need a holiday."

As Anne wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck, she wondered what is was about her that made people think she was in desperate need of a vacation. Did she have bags under her eyes? Was she irritable and moody at work? Whatever the reason, she was glad for it. A week in Jamaica, with Phillip Carlyle, sounded like heaven.

* * *

Anne was a little ashamed, admittedly, about welcoming Phillip into their apartment. Compared to his flashy sports car, and undoubtedly sizeable townhouse, their apartment must seem like a broom closet compared to what he was used to. Yet, if he was surprised by their home, he didn’t let it show. As he stepped through the doorway, beaming widely, he had nothing but compliments for the place. How well Anne had decorated, how nice the kitchen was, how comfy the sofa looked. He was sweet, and it made Anne’s crush on him - _for it was a crush_ \- grow even larger.

W. D. did nothing but glare at him, making the already tiny room thick with tension. She could see Phillip shuffling uncomfortably on his feet, and she asked him for a hand with her suitcase so that he would have an excuse to slip out from under W. D.’s scrutiny. He helped carry it down the stairs, and placed it in the trunk of the taxi cab waiting for them. Anne hugged her brother, realising that a week will have been the longest they’d ever been apart. He planted a kiss on her forehead, and told her stay safe.

When she pulled away, Phillip was stood behind her, holding the door to the cab open. W. D. crossed his arms, and the sentimentality in his eyes was replaced by a steely composer. “Anne can apply her own suncream, you’ll sleep in separate rooms, and your hands will remain by your side at all times,” he warned Phillip, his New Orleans accent thicker than usual. “If you can promise all that, they we ain’t gonna have a problem."

Perhaps more intimidated than complacent, Phillip merely nodded, wide-eyed. “Of course,” he answered, as serious as he could muster.

Anne held back a sigh, and waved at her brother as they drove off, heading for the airport. Phillip was sat in the back next to her, still a little tense. She patted his knee, in a friendly manner, though allowed her fingertips to linger perhaps slightly longer than necessary. “He’s only trying to scare you,” she sighed, her tone light-hearted. “You should hear some of the things he threatened to do to the guys who tried to take me out on dates back home."

Phillip chuckled, seemingly more at ease. “Was there many? Guys who tried to date you, I mean."

Why was he so curious? Was he just making conversation, or was there another hidden agenda? “A few,” was all Anne replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

They arrived at JFK, and check-in was a breeze. Phillip flashed his passport and his smile, and they were whisked through the airport by a more than eager air hostess, who ensured that they were boarded onto their plane first. Anne was speechless. Of course she had known Phillip was wealthy and well-known, but not to the point where he received special treatment wherever he went. Glancing at him, she could sense that he hadn’t expected any less. He wasn’t arrogant about it, he just hadn’t experienced anything else.

Stepping through the door on the plane, wheeling her suitcase behind her, Anne couldn’t find the words to comprehend what she was seeing. Nothing felt real. The seats were like something out of a spaceship, with television screens built in, bigger than the one she had in her apartment. They were handed complimentary hand towels, that were steaming hot to the touch, and the air hostesses were nothing but attentive.

“Are you alright?”

Her astonishment must have been showing on her expression, for Phillip was regarding her with concern. “I feel like I’m on an episode of The Bachelor,” she spluttered, speaking before thinking.

Quickly, she blushed, as Phillip laughed. “Don’t worry, there aren’t any roses to win,” he teased, as he reached into his pocket. “However, I do have something for you."

Anne watched closely as he proceeded to pull out a little, velvet box, the telltale soft blue colour of a Tiffany’s box. Opening it, she gasped at the treasure it held inside. It was an engagement ring, with a glittering one carat diamond. It must have cost a fortune, and Anne wasn’t sure if she could accept it.

“If we’re going to do it, we should do it right,” Phillip beamed, as he took Anne’s trembling hand in his. Everything was becoming all too overwhelming for her, that his touch was the only thing that calmed her. He slipped the ring on the correct finger, and allowed her to admire the ring upon closer inspection.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever worn,” she gasped, the diamond catching the sunlight. “And certainly the most expensive. Mr Carlyle, I can’t take this."

Phillip shook his head, and gave her another smile. “Please, it’s the least I can do after what you’ve agreed to help me with,” he told her, kindly. “That being said, you can call me Phillip. Be a little strange if my fiancé called me Mr all the time."

Anne chuckled nervously, still enamoured by the rock on her finger. As she held it up, an air hostess walked by, and caught sight of it.

“Oh my, do my eyes deceive me, of have the pair of you just gotten engaged?” she cooed, eyes bright.

Just as Anne prepared to shake her head and say no, Phillip clasped his hand over hers and smiled graciously up at the woman. “We sure have,” he replied, convincingly. “I was too excited, I just couldn’t wait until we got off the plane."

The air hostess, whose badge read Leanne, smiled, holding her hand to her chest. “Gosh, you two are just the cutest,” she sighed, wistfully. “I’ll bring some celebratory drinks over to you right away."

Phillip’s blissful expression slipped momentarily, as he called after Leanne. “I wouldn’t want to put you to too much trouble,” he said, politely. “But I’m afraid the alcohol will just react badly with my travel sickness tablets. However, could you make sure my lovely fiancé is taken care of? Anything from the bar, and spare no costs."

The woman nodded, still grinning at the pair of them. As she walked away, Anne turned to face Phillip, inquisitively.

“Seven months sober,” he explained, as though reading her thoughts. Anne opened her mouth to say something, sorry probably, but Phillip merely smiled. “It’s okay, I don’t mind you knowing. It’s one of the reasons I asked you to come along, in fact. To make sure I stay sober."

Anne frowned. “But surely your friends won’t make you . . . " She stopped when she saw Phillip’s solemn expression. Her heart went out to him. “Oh."

“They’re why I became such a mess in the first place,” he sighed. “Spencer, the groom at this wedding, he’s the worst of the lot. They probably all have drinking addictions too, after what we got up to in college, just too proud to admit it."

“Why did you agree to be his best man, knowing he’s responsible for . . . your addiction?” Anne asked, curious.

“Oh, I claim all responsibility for my bad habits, it’s just Spencer was never very good at _discouraging_ me, if you understand,” Phillip answered. “I think I agreed for my parent’s sake more than anything. My antics as of late have caused them nothing but harm, to their reputation mostly. I feel as though I owe them this."

Despite all that Anne knew about the Carlyle family, she couldn’t fault their loyalty to one another. Or at least, Phillip’s loyalty to his parents. It was an admirable trait to say the least.

“That being said, I think it’s best if we don’t mention the theatre during this trip,” Phillip went on to say, gently. “It’ll only distress them further."

Anne nodded, then realised something. “What shall I say I do for a living, or where we met?"

“You can tell them you’re a dancer, that won’t shock them too much,” he grinned, a devilishly handsome grin that made Anne’s heart soar.

“I’m ballroom trained, I can tell them that,” Anne offered, as Phillip’s ocean blue eyes lit up.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he told her, as the air hostess returned with Anne’s drink of fine champagne.

The liquid tasted how she thought gold would, and it slipped down her throat like honey. “It’s a day for firsts,” Anne said, watching the bubbles in her glass. “First time drinking champagne, first time on a plane - "

“You’ve never been on a plane?” Phillip exclaimed, incredulously.

Anne shook her head. “I’ve never left the country before,” she admitted. “Me and W. D., we arrived to New York on a bus because it was all we could afford. Took us thirty-seven hours, but it was worth it."

“Well, I’ve never been on a bus before,” Phillip replied, timidly. Now it was Anne’s turn to be taken aback.

The pair continued chatting, as though they had known each other for years. He held her hand as the took off, and he laughed as he taught her how to pop her ears when the plane got too high. To anyone around them, they looked like a genuine couple; happy and in love. During the flight, they managed to plan every detail of their made-up engagement, from how they met, to their first date, to where he proposed. By the time they had landed, they’d built the perfect relationship.

More importantly, they were able to convince others of it too.


	2. DAY ONE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Phillip arrive in Jamaica, and are thrown in at the deep end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about this story, and so glad people seem to be liking it!
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

The second they stepped off the plane, the increase in temperature hit Phillip like a brick wall. A surge of heat consumed him as he descended the steps, ensuring to hold Anne’s hand to steady her. It surprised him, how natural it had become for him to play the besotted fiancé. He was carrying her suitcase for her, keeping her balanced, smiling at her; a couple of days ago he could barely string a sentence together in her company.

Phillip watched Anne’s reaction closely. Her dark chocolate coloured eyes were wide, as she struggled to drink it all in. Even when they had to sue up in customs, she was still in awe of everything around her. Phillip was glad she had agreed to come with him to Jamaica, if only to see her face light up when she saw her first palm tree.

The taxi ride to the hotel was no less than twenty minutes. Their driver took the coastal road, and Phillip watched as Anne’s breath was taken away. She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t need to. She tore her eyes away briefly from the ocean, to glance at Phillip. As she smiled brightly, he realised that the only view that mattered to him was her, and the way she looked at him.

Then, they arrived at the hotel, and Phillip heard Anne gasp. It was a five star, luxury resort, and admittedly even he found it a little overwhelming. There were bellboys waiting patiently to take guests’ bags up to their rooms, dressed in light blue linen shirts, name tags glinting in the sun. Taking one glance at the other visitors as they stepped out of the car, Phillip felt a pang of bitterness. They were all dressed, head-to-toe, in designer clothes, the most expensive jewellery and watches adorning their skin, clipped tones barking orders to the staff.

Turning to face Anne, he saw a flash of anxiousness in her soft eyes. She had worn a simple, oversized white jumper and blue sweatpants to travel in, scuffed sneakers on her feet and her endearingly curly locks tied up in a messy bun. She was looking around at everyone else, and Phillip knew that she was beginning to feel out of place.

To reassure her, he reached out and took her hand in his. Her expression relaxed, and she smiled appreciatively at him. As the bellboys loaded their suitcases onto a trolley, he squeezed her hand.

“Ready to go in?” he asked, kindly. His parents and his former friends were all on the other side of the hotel doors, and he wanted to brace Anne for the madness that would surely ensue.

Anne tried a grin, and nodded. “Like walking into the lion’s den."

Immediately, when they open up the doors to the hotel, the lions descend. His parents must have been waiting in the lobby for them to arrive, the way they shot up and approached the pair of them. Anne tensed.

“Phillip, darling, we’re so happy to see you here,” his mother cooed, as she kissed his cheeks. The overpowering scent of Quelques Fleurs l’Original by Houbigant lingered on her skin, bringing tears to his eyes. She had worn the same perfume for thirty-seven years, ever since Princess Diana walked the aisle wearing it.

His father merely nodded in Phillip’s direction; he was never one for sentimentality. The pair of them caught sight of Anne’s hand in his, and made no qualms about looking her up and down. His mother’s shock was written all over her face, and she didn’t try to hide it. She took one look at the sparkling ring on her finger, and gasped.

“My, my, that’s some ring,” she muttered. “You must be . . . ?"

Anne held out her hand to shake Mathilda Carlyle’s, and Phillip watched as his mother ignored it. He gritted his teeth, and his nostrils flared. He didn’t know what to expect from his parents, but he hadn’t thought they’d have been this awful straight from the start. Anne’s face fell.

“Anne, ma’am,” she replied, politely. Her Southern manners never faltered, even if his mother’s city ones did. “Anne Wheeler."

Howard Carlyle’s interests piqued, as he stepped forward. “From the Wheeler family in Salt Lake City?"

Anne shook her head. “I’m from New Orleans, sir,” she answered.

“I don’t think we know anyone in New Orleans,” Mathilda sighed, her nose crinkling up. “By the looks of you, dear, I’d have thought you’d been here for months already!"

“Mother!” Phillip exclaimed, stunned by his mother’s tasteless remark. He glanced over at Anne, and saw her eyes drop to the floor, as she anxiously wrung her hands. His parents were making her uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing more than to take her far away from them. “That’s inappropriate."

Mathilda shrugged it off, rolling her eyes. “She knows I’m teasing her, Phillip,” she dismissed. "I can see that she’s coloured - which you never warned us about, by the way."

Phillip feared that his mother’s awful and insulting comments were offending Anne, and so he quickly made their excuses and whisked her away to the check-in desk. As he asked for the room keys, he watched Anne closely, as she ground her teeth together. It was a cute little quirk of hers he had noticed, something she usually did when she was tense or worried. He wanted to assure her that she wouldn’t have to put up with his parents for very long, when he heard a cough from behind the concierge’s desk.

“Excuse me sir, but I only have the one room booked under your name,” the man told him, holding out the key.

Before Phillip made a decision, he glanced over at Anne again. She had lifted her head up at the concierge’s words, her lips slightly parted. “But there’s two beds, isn’t there?” Phillip asked, his heart pounding. He had completely forgot to add an extra room to his booking, and was worried that in all his excitement, he’d also forgotten to ask for another bed. He didn’t want Anne to think he had planned it this way.

The concierge shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir."

Phillip’s eyes met Anne’s, and he found that he didn’t have to ask the question that was on his lips, for she knew what he was going to say. “Phillip, it’s alright,” she explained, a soft smile tugging on her lips. “It’ll look odd if we’re in separate rooms, but supposedly engaged. If we’re gonna do it, we should do it right."

Her last sentence was an echo of what he had told her on the plane, when he had given her the Tiffany’s ring to wear. He grinned back, a blush threatening to creep up his face, as he took the key from the concierge. They took the elevator up to their floor, and found their room. Their bags were waiting for them by the door, as Phillip swiped the key through the lock. He braced himself as they stepped inside.

The room was unbelievable. They had a balcony, that gave them the most incredible view of the beach down below. The colour palette was soft blues and dark greens, and they had more space than they knew what to do with. Anne stood in the middle of their room, and struggled to drink it all in.

“It’s bigger than my apartment,” she muttered, and Phillip knew she wasn’t exaggerating. “You have to let me give you some money for this, please I - "

Phillip admired her humbleness, but wanted to assure her that she didn’t have to pay a penny for the trip. “Anne, you’re doing me a favour coming along,” he told her, honestly. “Let me do this for you. Please?"

Her cheeks tinged a little pink, as she tucked a curl behind her ear. “Okay,” she finally gave in, smiling at him.

When silence fell over them again, they both found themselves glancing at the bed. It was queen size, so it would certainly be able to fit them both nicely. Still, it meant sleeping beside one another, and the thought made Phillip’s throat dry up. Scratching the back of his head, he tried to shake the image of Anne curled up next to him under the covers.

“I can sleep on the couch if that’d be easier?” he suggested, his voice a little higher than normal.

Anne, who couldn’t look him in the eyes, waved it off. “Phillip, you’ve paid for the room, you should get to sleep in a bed,” she sighed, and then took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t mind sharing . . . if you don’t?"

The image flashed before his eyes again. “No, I don’t mind."

* * *

Phillip paced back and forth in their hotel room, dressed in a smart white shirt, with navy blue trousers and a matching blazer. His hair was combed back neatly, and he had made sure to wear just the right amount of cologne. Whilst he was ready for the dinner that was taking place in the ballroom to welcome all of the wedding guests to Jamaica, Anne wasn’t.

She had locked the door to the bathroom, and hadn’t come out in over an hour. Phillip worried that nerves - and his parents - had become too much for her to cope with. Nervous, he tried to remain composed. He knocked on the door, and asked her how she was, in as neutral a voice as he could muster. It wouldn’t look good if he showed up to the dinner without his fiancé.

“Don’t worry, I’m just running a little late is all,” she called to him. “Go ahead without me!"

That wasn’t what he had wanted to hear, but took confidence from her calm response. He wanted to wait for her, but wondered how much longer she would take. He was expected in the ballroom, considering he was the best man. Sighing, he knew what he had to do. “Alright, I’ll see you downstairs,” he replied, and left the room.

Walking down to the ballroom, his stomach was in knots. He hadn’t seen some of the guests since he joined the theatre, and knew what plenty of them thought of him. He could feel the stares on him as he stepped into the room, and heard the whispers. Trying his best to ignore them all, and to bury his desire to pick up the nearest champagne flute and down the contents in one, he looked around for a familiar face.

Unfortunately, he claps eyes with his old college friends. Jared Longhurst, the son of an oil baron, Gregory Gordon, a Wall Street mogul before he was twenty-one, and William Fitzgerald, a descendant of the Kennedy family, all descended upon him, calling out his name as though they were at another party. Phillip didn’t want any more attention drawn to him, and they were doing the exact opposite.

“Phil! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Greg cried, going in for high-five, which Phillip reluctantly reciprocated.

“You are all our mothers talk about at brunch,” Will teased. “How does it feel being the black sheep of society?"

Jared, the most obnoxious of them all, clapped Phillip on the back, knocking the wind out of him. “He’s living his best life, aren’t you man?” he laughed, his terminology sounding as though it had been written for him by the creators of _Beverly Hills, 90210_. “Girls love a bad boy."

“Speaking of, which of the bridesmaids do you have dibs on?” Greg asked, gesturing to the huddle of girls with painfully obvious spray tans and bleached blonde hair. One of the girls caught him looking, and waved over at Phillip, plastering a sickly sweet smile on her plastic-looking face. “I think that one likes you."

Gritting his teeth, Phillip couldn’t believe he had once been one of these insufferable and nauseating _frat boys_ , for lack of a better term. “It’s not like that anymore,” he began, wanting to retreat into a corner by himself. “I’m . . . I’m engaged now."

It still felt odd saying it, even though he knew it was all just a ruse. The expressions on the other men’s faces were doubtful, as they chuckled. “We know you just told your mother that to - "

Just as they began to question him, their jaws dropped. The room fell quiet, and Phillip saw everybody’s eyes drop from him, and turn to the doorway. Curious, Phillip turned around, and felt his heart stop. Anne was walking in, clad in the most stunning gold, glittery dress that stopped mid-thigh. Her mile-long legs on full display, the five inch heels making her over six feet tall, she could easily have been a model on a runway. The neckline was low, scandalously so, and left little to the imagination. Her chocolate-coloured hair resembled a lion’s mane, wild and curly, framing her flawless face. Her dark eyes were bright, and her cheekbones shone in the light. In short, she was breathtaking.

Behind him, Phillip could hear the men making inappropriate comments about Anne. He felt oddly protective of her. Before he could swivel around and knock them to their feet, Anne spotted him. Her face lit up, and she began to approach him. All of his worries melted away, and the only thing that mattered was her.

“Wow,” was all Phillip could utter, getting all tongue-tied again. “You look . . . wow."

She chuckled at his choice of words, as she glanced over his shoulder. “Are they the friends you wanted me about?” she whispered, and Phillip merely nodded. Instinctively, she took his hand in hers, and planted a kiss on his cheek - in full view of the other men. His skin burned where her lips had touched him, and he was sure that he was blushing. He knew it was for show, and that she was doing it to keep up their act, but he was still shocked to feel a shiver go down his spine.

“Guys, this is Anne, my fiancé,” he introduced, as she flashed the three men a wide grin. One of her hands rested on his shoulder, the other placed on his chest, as his arm snaked around her waist. He wasn’t sure how they ended up in that position, but it felt right. “Anne, this is Jared, Greg and Will."

Selfishly, Phillip relished in their astonishment. The ring on Anne’s finger caught the light, and along with her sparkly gold dress, she quite literally shone. There wasn’t a single person in the ballroom who hadn’t noticed Anne, and who wasn’t talking about her.

* * *

The dinner, in Anne’s opinion, went as well as could be expected. Placed on one of the back tables, relegated to sitting with the second cousins and long forgotten nannies, she felt as though she were witnessing something out of a romance film from the Hallmark Channel. The speeches made by the families of the bride and groom were sickly sweet, and the dancing was awkward and uncomfortable.

However, at time Anne felt as though she were under a spotlight. When the mother of the groom wasn’t fawning over her soon-to-be daughter-in-law, and the bride’s father wasn’t making unoriginal jokes about the cost of the catering, she was being bombarded with question after question from snooty-nosed socialites. Everyone wanted to know who she was, where she had met Phillip, what she did and so on. Fortunately, her and Phillip had rehearsed their story on the plane journey over, and being a natural performer, Anne felt somewhat at ease telling their story.

“We met at a charity gala hosted by mutual friends."

“I’m a ballroom dancer, trained in Paris."

“My family adore him."

Surprisingly, the biggest lie Anne told was that her family loved Phillip; only W. D. had met him, and he was hardly his biggest fan. They had met through mutual friends - the Barnum’s - though it was less a charity gala, and more drinks at a bar off Broadway. Anne was ballroom trained, though her classes were taught in Madame Serré’s Studio, an eighty year old woman _from_ Paris.

There was one point when all five of Phillip’s aunts had cornered her, and demanded to know how many children she planned on having. At only twenty-two, babies were the last thing on Anne’s mind, so she had to blurt out the first number that came to mind. Disastrously, that number was seven. Their eyes lit up, and they all began planning what silverware which child was going to get in their wills. Anne was relieved when Phillip came over and rescued her, tucking her arm in his.

“How’s it going?” he whispered, as they walked away.

“Your Aunt Muriel has offered to host my first baby shower,” she replied, teasingly. Phillip’s eyes bulged out of his head, caught off guard, and Anne chuckled. “Don’t worry though, I managed to put her off the name Ernest."

Phillip was at a loss for words, and Anne couldn’t help but find his embarrassment adorable. “Beside’s Aunt Muriel, everyone’s been nice though, haven’t they?” he finally asked, sweetly.

Pausing to consider her answer, Anne took a deep sigh. “Truthfully, I feel like I’m in a scene from _Get Out_ ,” she replied, biting back a smirk. “I think there’s like one other black person here, and he’s a waiter."

Phillip laughed, despite himself, and turned to face her. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, placing a warm hand on her forearm, in a comforting manner. It sent shivers down Anne’s spine, his touch exhilarating. “I didn’t bring you here to make you feel uncomfortable."

“Why did you ask me?” Anne inquired, cocking her head to the side. She was emboldened by the few sips of wine she’d had that night, and her curiosity had gotten the better of her. “I know you know plenty of girls who would have been more than willing to say yes, and it would have saved the elaborate backstory."

“You’re the only girl I wanted to ask,” he told her, without hesitation. His answer took her aback, and she wanted to ask him what he meant by that, when they were approached by some other pinched-face, expensive jewellery-wearing guests, keen to meet Phillip’s new fiancé.

After another conversation where more people were distastefully surprised to hear that Anne was from New Orleans, her and Phillip made their excuses and fled the ballroom. In the elevator to their room, Anne made a joke about one of the guests’ racoon-like toupee, and the pair doubled over with laughter. Anne clutched onto Phillip’s shoulder to steady herself, whilst he dabbed at his tears. They stumbled to their room, Phillip swiping the key in the lock, and they pushed the door open.

Suddenly, the laughter died down when they spotted what the hotel staff had left on their bed. Clearly news of their ‘engagement’ had spread, and somebody had decided that it was a good idea to scatter rose petals over the bed, champagne chilling in an ice bucket.

Anne couldn’t look Phillip in the eye, as she kicked off her heels. She pulled her pyjamas from her bag, and informed him she’d get changed in the bathroom, while he could get changed in the room. He appeared as equally as abashed as her, and merely nodded. A few minutes later, after wiping the make-up off her face, and brushing her teeth, she glanced down at the pyjamas she had brought with her. She was never a very good packer, and had grabbed the pyjamas that had been on the top of the washing pile in a hurry. Now, she regretted her hastiness.

In her hands was an oversized black Lauryn Hill tour t-shirt, and a pair of red boy shorts. Slipping on the t-shirt, she cursed under her breath when she saw that it barely covered her thighs. Feeling a fool, she called out to Phillip on the other side of the door, and asked if he was decent. He assured her he was, and she braced herself.

Opening the door and stepping out hesitantly, she stood at the foot of the bed. She spotted that Phillip had gathered the rose petals into one pile, and put them on the table, and the champagne was presumably stored away in the mini fridge. However, that wasn’t what her attention was drawn to. Phillip was sat up in the bed, wearing a dark grey shirt, his phone in his hands. His eyes were glued to her, his breathing shallow.

Anxiously, Anne tugged on the hem of her t-shirt, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She wished he would say something, because his gaze was making her knees feel weak.

“Lauryn Hill, huh?” he finally spluttered, as she shuffled on her feet. His comment was adorably awkward, and settled Anne’s nerves slightly.

Laughing nervously, Anne nodded. “She came to New Orleans when I was fourteen, and W. D. took me to see her. Best concert of my life."

She crossed the room, and pulled back the covers. She got in beside him, carefully, her cheeks growing hot. The tension between them was palpable, and despite how comfortable they had been with each other earlier, joking together in the elevator ride up, their was a significant change now. Anne felt conflicted as she laid her head down, Phillip turning his phone off. The space separating her and Phillip was both too small and too big at the same time. Too small, because sleeping next to him was going to prove difficult, especially when he smelt so good. Too big, because she wanted to be as close to him as possible.

Two days ago, she had been hoping that Phillip invited her along because he wanted her there. That he couldn’t imagine any other girl with him. Less than an hour ago, he had told her just that. What did that mean? Did he feel the same way about her that she did about him? Then, there was the matter of her lips on his cheek earlier, and how that sensation had given her goosebumps. Yes, it had been part of their act, but Anne wouldn’t have kissed him if she didn’t want to, and she certainly _wanted to_. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn't imagine their first kiss.

His lamp was still on, as he laid his head down beside her. He was heart-stompingly handsome, his eyes the colour of sparkling water, the kind you only see surrounding desert islands. They were still on her, his lips curved up in a charming grin.

“I’ve been told I snore,” he warned her, his voice husky.

Anne smirked. “If you snore tonight, I’ll suffocate you with my pillow,” she joked, causing him to laugh loudly.

“Thank you for saying yes to coming alone,” he told her. “I’m not sure I’d have stayed sane without you here - or had half as much fun."

Anne could tell he was being genuine, and smiled, warmly. With that, Phillip reached out and turned the light off, darkness falling over the pair of them. Her eyes were starting to become heavy, and soon enough she was soundly asleep, dreaming of Phillip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Anne's dress, imagine the one from the _Versace on the Floor_ video.


	3. DAY TWO.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Phillip start falling deeper and deeper, as they spend a day at the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments! I hope you enjoy this new chapter.
> 
> By the way, I imagine this whole chapter set to the soundtrack from _Everything, Everything_

* * *

When Phillip awoke the next morning, he was suddenly very aware of Anne’s body pressed against his. Her bare leg had wrapped itself around his waist, and one of her hands was resting against his chest. Her head was nestled into the crook of his neck, her breath gentle and warm, his arm on the small of her back. The feel of her against him was sending his imagination wild, his mind racing. They slotted together like two jigsaw pieces, and he was reluctant to move, partly out of fear she would wake up, and also because he rather enjoyed having her so close.

Smiling to himself, he thought that if he could wake up every morning with Anne sprawled across him, warmth radiating from her, then he would be a very happy man. He wasn’t sure how long he remained tangled up with her, and was savouring every second, when a knock on the door sent her eyes shooting open. She was clearly not a morning person, as she groggily turned her head to look towards the door at the waiter pushing in a trolley brimming with an assortment of breakfast foods, and then up at Phillip. Scrambling off him, she sat up, her cheeks flushed.

Slightly embarrassed about their sleeping position, Anne proceeded to thank the waiter for their breakfast, pulling the covers around her. Phillip got out of bed, missing her touch the second she recoiled from him, and scanned the array of food.

“We didn’t order this,” he informed the waiter, though his mouth watered at the sight of the delicacies on offer.

The waiter merely smiled at him. “It is complimentary, Mr Carlyle,” he replied, politely. His eyes glanced over at Anne, and his smile widened. “To celebrate the engagement."

Phillip merely nodded, not sure what else to say. He could hardly tell the poor man, who was only doing his job, that it was all a ruse, when there was Anne sat up in their bed, seconds ago cuddled up under the covers with him. Thanking him, Phillip closed the door behind the waiter, and stretched. Anne had clambered out of bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, as she took browsed the breakfast buffet.

“This fake engagement does have it’s perks,” she muttered, grinning at him.

She picked up a plate, and began to pile all sorts of food onto the china. Pancakes with yogurt and berries, then toast and avocado, then some orange juice and coffee, and finally a boiled egg. She even had enough room for a bowl of granola, and a double helping of pancakes, with some syrup and bacon instead. Anne sat down cross-legged on their bed, tucking into her food, whilst he watched in awe. For such a slender girl, she sure could eat.

Phillip sat next to her, content with his plain buttered toast, and hash browns. Well, he was until Anne pinched a slice from off of his plate. He chuckled, even though he knew normally that such a gesture would have made his tempers flare.

“Sure you’re not full?” he teased.

Anne shook her head, enthusiastically. “This is a white girl Instagram breakfast,” she told him, pointing at her plate. Unable to help himself, Phillip snorted with laughter. “And I intend to enjoy every mouthful. Lord knows I ain’t gonna get another one like this back in New York."

“We can have it every morning until we leave, if you’d like?” Phillip offered, wanting nothing more than for her to be happy on this trip. Especially after the trouble his friends and family were putting her through.

Her eyes lit up. “Really?” she gasped. A drop of syrup rolled down her chin as she bit into a slice of her pancake. “I ain’t never had room service before."

Phillip smiled at her modesty, as he reached out to wipe away the syrup from her face with his thumb. He licked the sticky liquid from off of his fingers, and for a split second Anne froze, watching him such intensity.

When they had finished their breakfast, Anne laid back down on the bed, holding her stomach. “Last time I was this full it was Thanksgiving, and mama had made sweet potato pie,” she groaned.

Admiring her, Phillip laughed. There was barely an ounce of fat on her, and yet here she was complaining of a bursting belly. Her curls were draped across the sheets, her feet hanging off the end of the bed. In comparison with the ivory duvet, her skin glowed. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, when his eyes began to trail up her legs. He stopped himself short, and instead focused on her eyes, which were bright and bronze.

“Your friends last night, they were the ones from college weren’t they?” she asked him, curiously. Phillip nodded. “What’s the deal with them? You didn’t seem to like them very much."

He sighed. “I was a different person when I was their friend,” he explained. “It was during my days partying with them that I began drinking, and caring less about everything else. I’d always hated who I was, but too stupid to try and change myself. Only when I met Barnum, and joined the theatre, did I realise that I couldn’t be that guy anymore; that I didn’t want to be that guy anymore."

“That’s a long time spent hating yourself,” Anne pointed out, softly.

The realisation dawned on Phillip. “It is, isn’t it?”

She reached out and placed a hand on his knee. “It’s alright now,” she told him. “I’m here to look out for, ain’t I? And I wouldn’t be here if you were still that obnoxious frat boy."

Phillip beamed at her, grateful for her honesty, though his insides were exploding like fireworks at her touch.

* * *

Anne wanted to spend the day on the beach, whilst Phillip had work to do. She had moaned like a puppy, eager for some exercise as it pleaded with it’s owner to take it out, being him to come outside with her. While she was making nearly impossible to say no, Phillip’s resolve remained intact. Even her pouting wasn’t enough to sway him, and she looked extremely irresistible when she pouted.

Realising that she’d have to go alone, Anne feigned a strop as she disappeared into the bathroom to get washed and changed. When she reappeared a few minutes later, dressed in a pretty, backless sundress and the telltale straps of a yellow swimsuit underneath, Phillip wished he had said yes. She was wearing no make-up, and had tied her hair up into a messy bun atop her head, curls spilling out everywhere.

“I’m just saying, who’s gonna apply my suncream for me?"

That was her last resort, and it tipped Phillip over the edge. The combination of her honey-dripped voice, her alluring attire, and the thought of his hands on her skin was all too much for him. “Just give me half an hour to finish this report, and I’ll be down,” he told her, his palms sweaty.

She grinned, and picked up her beach bag. “See you soon, then.” With those parting words she left the room.

Sighing, Phillip ran a hand through his locks. Anne had an effect over him, a powerful one, and it was driving him crazy. Did she know what she did to him, or was she oblivious to the fact he was ball of nerves when he was around her? That words often failed him, and he would get so caught up in her beauty that he would lose his train of thought.

He turned back to his report on his laptop, sat at the table on the balcony, fully intent on focusing on his work. Their view was an incredible one, as they could see the white, sandy beaches below. Unfortunately, that meant Phillip could see Anne. Any attempt of shaking her from his mind was lost immediately. Especially when she pulled her sundress over her head, almost as if it were in slow motion, and she was left in her lemon-coloured _bikini_. Not a swimsuit, but a bikini.

Phillip’s breath hitched in his throat, his jaw slack. He had thought seeing her in her ‘pyjamas’ the previous night had been heart-stopping enough, but clearly he had been mistaken. Seeing Anne in even less material was altogether an other-worldly experience. It was certainly going to make sleeping beside her again that night ten times more difficult than it had been before.

Distracted and consumed by her, all Phillip could do was watch. She laid down on the sun lounger, pulling out a tattered and worn-out book she had brought with her from home. While Anne may have not noticed the other stares from the men on the beach, Phillip certainly had, and it made his blood boil.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, he spotted Spencer, the groom-to-be, and Jared walking over to her. Jumping out of his seat like a rocket, Phillip rushed to pull on his navy swimming shorts and an old green t-shirt, and ran out of their room. Sprinting through the hotel, he didn’t stop until he reached Anne on the sun lounger, Spencer and Jared sat beside her.

“Everything alright?” he asked, not even out of breath.

He could see Anne’s discomfort, her arms drawn across her waist, knees pulled up her chest. Spencer and Jared were regarding her with open lustfulness, despite the fact that one of them was an engaged man, days away from tying the knot. The pair of them looked up at Phillip, and grinned. They were clearly oblivious to the uneasiness they were causing to Anne, who seemed relieved to see Phillip there.

“Phil!” Jared cheered. “We’re just getting better acquainted with your fiancé over here."

At the mention of the word fiancé, Phillip glanced down at Anne’s hand, and felt a surge of warmth when he spotted the ring still on her finger. She hadn’t taken it off since he’d given her to her, and

Spencer smirked. “She tells us she’s a dancer,” he sneered, as he turned back to look Anne up and down. “But something tells me she’s no ballroom dancer. Where did you pick her up and again, Phil?"

Gritting his teeth, Phillip could feel his anger rising. “Are you insinuating that Anne’s some . . . _exotic dancer_?” he hissed.

“Is that what they’re called these days?” Jared sniggered.

Before Phillip could throw the first punch, he heard Anne pipe up.

“Whether I’m a ballroom dancer or not, I’m still a woman who doesn’t appreciate your dumb comments,” she exclaimed, her outburst taking them all by surprise. “And I don’t think your fiancé will much appreciate them either, so why don’t you run along back to your colouring books or fidget spinners and keep your thoughts to yourselves, before somebody slaps those stupid ass grins off of your faces."

Spencer’s expression grew dark as he got up and stormed off, whilst Jared merely licked his lips and clapped Phillip on the back. “I like her,” he muttered, and then followed Spencer back down the beach.

Ignoring his former friend’s last remark, Phillip took a seat on the sun lounger beside Anne, and looked her in the eyes. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes, and he could see her hands trembling with rage. He reached out and took her hands in his, his thumbs along her knuckles in a bid to soother her.

“You handled that amazingly,” he told her, in a gentle voice.

She tried a grin, her breathing steadying the longer Phillip calmed her. “I felt humiliated,” she admitted, and Phillip could have sworn his heart broke.

“I promise it won’t happen again,” he assured her.

Anne thanked him, her anger all but dissolved. The cloud of tears had disappeared, and she was visibly a lot composed.

* * *

Anne was convinced her strength came from Phillip. Yes, that was a very unprogressive thing to say, that a man was responsible for giving her confidence, but it was true. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if he hadn’t have arrived in time to confront the two men who were insistent upon pestering her. His presence filled her with courage.

Under the guise of her sunglasses, she watched Phillip shed his t-shirt. He pulled the thin material over his head, revealing a jaw dropping six pack that could have been carved by the gods, and toned muscles. She felt herself come over all hot, and it had nothing to do with the glaring heat of the sun. Her breathing was shallow and she couldn’t reign herself to look away. Phillip often wore fitted shirts at work, so she knew that he had _something_ going on underneath, and she had seen his post-gym selfies on Instagram. However, never had she seen him without a shirt before.

Phillip caught her staring - more like drooling over him - and smirked. She blushed and looked away, pretending to busy herself with applying more sunscreen to her legs.

“Do you mind putting some on my back, please?” he asked, turning around.

Nodding, Anne stood up and poured some of the suncream onto her hands. She began to brush her hands across his broad shoulder, gingerly, biting her lip.

“I don’t bite,” Phillip joked, and Anne laughed, nervously.

His skin was soft, and she could feel his muscles underneath her fingertips. Her cheeks scarlet, she finished rubbing in the lotion, and stepped away, reluctantly. He thanked her, and continued to cover the rest of his body in the suncream, whilst Anne resisted the urge to gawk at him all she could.

Sat beside one another, Anne found herself rather enjoying Phillip’s company. He was witty, he was kind, and he was very easy to talk to. They chatted about a great number of things, most of which never ceased to make her laugh. That’s when he asked her about growing up in New Orleans.

“We never had much money when I was younger, still don’t really, which meant that our holidays were spent camping out in the garden,” she explained, smiling at the memory. “Mama would tell us stories as we slept under the stars, fireflies above our heads."

She saw something flash in Phillip’s eyes, and at first she thought it was pity for her, when she then realised it was wistfulness. “I wish I’d had holidays as . . . authentic as that when I was younger,” he sighed. “Rather than the empty and extravagant trips all around the world, that I’m afraid to admit that they all blurred into one."

Anne, who might have once rolled her eyes at the woes of the wealthy, felt herself sympathising with him. His childhood, with the cold and distant parents he had, must have been a lonely one. The sadness in his tone made her want to wrap her arms around him and hold him until he no longer felt that stinging pain.

The conversation then turned to one of past relationships. Anne teased him about his many girlfriends that had been plastered all over the tabloids, and Phillip brushed it off, his face tinged pink, as he flipped the question onto her. “What about your old boyfriends?” he asked, inquisitively. “You’ve never mentioned any of them before."

Sitting up, Anne thought back to when she was a teenager. “There was a boy, called Jackson Davis,” she began, as she took her bun out, shaking her hair free. “He was on the football team, and I . . . well, I was a cheerleader."

Phillip’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “A cheerleader?"

“It was something all my friends all did,” Anne told him, as though making an excuse for herself. She laughed at his surprised expression. “What? I’ve always been a dancer. Anyway, me and Jackson were together from Junior Year to Senior Year. We were very much in love, and I thought for a long time that he was the one. That was until I found out he’d been cheating on me with the cheer captain behind my back. They even became Prom King and Queen, if you can believe."

“That’s awful,” Phillip muttered, shaking his head. His eyes on her were steady, and unfaltering. “You didn’t deserve that."

His words were genuine, and sent a shiver down her spine. “There was another boy, a while later,” she continued. “Marcus Baptiste. I met him in the House of Blues, where my mama used to sing and I found a job as a waitress. He was this incredibly talented musician, a trumpeter. Our relationship was very fast, and we were even talking about possibly getting married. However, I’d made my mind up about moving to New York, and we broke up. We stayed friends, but we’ve since lost contact."

“What about recently?” Phillip asked, shuffling in his seat as though he were wary of her answer. “Have you . . . have you found anyone?"

Anne found his nervousness interesting, and wondered what he had to be nervous about. “I’ve been on a few dates, but nothing serious,” she sighed, then bit her lip. “Waiting for the right person, I suppose."

* * *

Suddenly, Phillip jumped out of the sun lounger, and grinned down at Anne. The sun was behind him, and made appear as though he were glowing. She was finding it difficult to focus on what he was saying, his heavenly body distracting her.

“Fancy a swim?” he asked.

Anne glanced towards the sea, and felt her stomach tie up in knots. Warily, she shook her head. “Um . . . won’t it be cold?” she replied, searching her brain for a plausible excuse.

Laughing, Phillip shrugged. “Probably,” he answered. “Come on, it’ll be fun."

Still not convinced, Anne shook her head again. This time, Phillip’s eyebrows furrowed, and he cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong?” he inquired, in a soft and tender voice.

Taking a deep breath, Anne found she couldn’t lie to him. “I . . . I can’t swim,” she blurted out, bracing herself for the onslaught of questions. Instead, Phillip merely took a seat beside her on the lounger, and held out his hand for her to hold.

“I’ll be with you,” he assured her, his shoulder pressed against hers, knees grazing. “I won’t let anything bad happen. I promise."

The way he looked at her, with such warmth and consideration in his icy blue eyes, and the way her hand fitted in his all sparked Anne to feel confident in his promise. She smiled, though a little nervously, and nodded. Thrilled at her change of mind, Phillip didn’t let go of her hand all they way down to the water’s edge, and he didn’t let go when she dipped her toe in.

“It’s not that mama never took me to lessons,” Anne stalled, apprehensively glaring at the water. “‘Cause she did. She took me and W. D. to the local pool, when I was six and he was thirteen. I was so excited to start learning that I insisted mama buy me this sweet, purple swimsuit and giraffe floaties. However, the night before our first lesson, W. D. thought it’d be funny to watch _Jaws_. Ever since then I ain't been able to bring myself to go near the water."

Phillip, whose fingers were still laced with hers, gave her a broad grin. “Not even baths?” he teased.

Anne giggled, despite herself. “Well, obviously I have baths,” she replied, tucking a curl behind her ear. “But that’s as deep as I go."

“I bet your mother wasn’t best pleased when you decided that you couldn’t go in the water."

“Oh, she was fuming,” Anne answered. “But not with me. She grounded W. D. for three weeks. Of course he feels guilty now, but at the time he blamed it all on me."

It was only when Anne felt the lap of a wave against her hip did she realise that as she talked, Phillip had slowly been edging her more and more into the water’s depths. She gripped his hand tightly, and gasped. Phillip tried to calm her, speaking to her gently, his smile anchoring her - quite literally.

She ran her fingertips through the water, the sensation somewhat soothing. “ _I’m in the water_ ,” she breathed, disbelieving. Glancing over at Phillip, who had inched nearer to her so that they were now a few centimetres apart, she beamed. “I’m in the water."

“You’re in the water,” Phillip repeated, grinning widely. Stepping even closer, his hands found themselves on her waist. Her breath hitched in her throat, as his hands touched her bare skin. He’d never touched her bare skin before. “Lie back."

“What?"

“Lie back, Anne,” he told her. “Trust me.” There was something in his voice that made her do exactly what he asked, their eyes never leaving each other’s.

Heart thumping away inside her chest, Anne tilted her body back, relying on Phillip’s hands to keep her from slipping under. All of a sudden, she found herself floating in the water, looking up at the sky. The feeling was euphoric. Her eyes closed, and she felt as though she could have been flying.

After another hour or so in the water, Anne and Phillip returned back to dry land, laughing out loud. They walked back to their sun loungers, and started drying themselves off. Phillip ran a hand through his hair, and Anne was captivated by him. It was no secret that Phillip worked out, but she hadn’t realised he was so _dedicated_. She had always known he was handsome, but there was something about seeing him so happy, so carefree, and so shirtless that sent goosebumps down her skin. Looking at him, sunkissed and muscled beyond belief, she knew it was going to be so much more difficult trying to fall asleep next to him that night.

Anne was so wrapped up in her thoughts, that she hadn’t noticed that while she was staring at Phillip, he had been staring back at her. She blushed, and he smiled. He threw a towel around her shoulders, and brushed his thumb along her cheek, delicately.

“I was wondering - "

However, before he could say what he had wanted, three girls appeared, dressed in various designer sarongs and floppy hats. They seemed to recognise Phillip, biting their lips as they looked him up and down, peering over the top of their sunglasses. A surge of jealousy washed over Anne, seeing them gazing at Phillip in nothing but his swimming trunks - when moments ago, she had been guilty of the same thing.

“Oh my God, if it isn’t the infamous Phillip Carlyle,” one of the girls said, her clipped tones grating on Anne’s ears.

“Long time no see,” another one added, her eyes lingering far too long on his six pack. She seemed to be the nicest out of all three, and that was saying something.

Waiting with baited breath, Anne willed Phillip to say something. Clearly these women knew him, and from the look on his face, he knew them too. Uncomfortable, she shrugged off the towel, none of the girls giving her a second glance.

Anne was relieved when she saw Phillip plaster on a false smile. She had known him long enough to know when he was being fake or genuine with people. “Certainly has been a while,” he sighed. He snaked an arm around Anne’s waist, and she couldn’t ignore the butterflies in her stomach. “Have you met my fiancé, Anne Wheeler?"

To say Anne took pleasure in the shocked expressions on the girls’ faces was an exaggeration.

“Not yet,” the final girl replied, her eyebrows furrowed. “How come we’ve never seen you in any of the society pages before? Or at any of the dinner parties?"

“Perhaps because Anne has better things to do, Emily?” Phillip answered for her, sounding exasperated. “She’s a dancer, aren’t you darling?"

 _Darling_. Oh how that word did things to her, coming out of Phillip’s lips. She nodded. “I’m a ballroom dancer,” she continued, confidence coursing through her veins, spurred on by Phillip’s presence. She even wrapped her arm around his body, ensuring that the girls knew who he belonged to - well, figuratively.

“Would we know you from anything?” the first girl inquired, placing her hand on her hip.

Anne tossed her hair over shoulder, exuding an air of nonchalance, ensuring that the diamond ring on her finger was seen. These girls were trying to intimidate her, and she wanted to let them know that it wasn’t working. “Perhaps,” she offered. “I’ve been in Paris for a while, so I haven’t had time to settle with a company in New York, with all this wedding planning to do."

" _Où es-tu resté à Paris_?” Emily asked, trying to catch Anne out. Her accent was poor, and her pronunciation worse. " _Je connais assez bien la ville_."

Without hesitation, Anne merely smiled back. " _Près de Porte Saint-Martin, dans un appartement pittoresque avec certains des autres danseurs, au-dessus du Café Botelli_ ,” she answered, in perfect French, fluent and fast. " _Le savez-vous? Célèbre pour ses moules frites extraordinaires. Tout le monde connaît Monsieur Botelli._ "

Emily was clearly not expecting the answer she received, and huffed.

“My name is Ashlee, with two e’s,” the nicest one said, with a smile. “I don’t know if Phillip’s told you, but I’m the one who’s getting married this week! Anyway, I was wondering, seeing as you are Phillip’s guest and he’s our best man, if you’d want to join us down in the spa tomorrow? It’ll just be us and the other bridesmaids, getting our nails done and gossiping. You don’t have to come, if you don’t want, but it’d be so nice to get to know you Anne. You never know - this could be your wedding next year!"

Anne couldn’t meet Phillip’s eyes. She tried to tell the girl, Ashlee, that she was probably not going to be able to make it to the spa, the bride-to-be flashed a grin, and chased after some other unassuming wedding guests, telling Anne to be ready by eleven.

Anne groaned, as Phillip stood beside her, stunned. “Where did that come from?” he exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“Where did what come from?” she asked, her eyebrows knitting together.

“That French!"

Laughing, Anne waved it off. “I grew up in New Orleans, remember?” she explained. “They like to teach it at the schools."

* * *

After the sun began to set, Phillip and Anne retreated to their room. Sat on the bed, crosslegged and in their pyjamas, the pair of them proceed to pick an array of delicious foods and drinks and desserts from the room service menu. Phillip was doing all the talking on the phone, whilst Anne pointed to dish after dish on the laminated menu, adding anything that caught her eye. Trying his best not to laugh, Phillip remained professional and business-like, all while Anne behaved like a puppy around him.

When their food arrived, Anne could hardly believe her eyes. They had certainly emptied the whole kitchens, and she wondered what the other guests were going to eat. Her empathy lasted a whole few seconds, when she forgot all about everyone else, and began to load up her plate.

Once again, her eyes were bigger than her belly. She worried that she’d never have to eat again, after putting away a whole four course meal.

“Say ‘I should have listened to Anne and put more sunscreen on’,” Phillip asked.

It was a game he had invented where he would say something in English that Anne had to repeat back to him in French. So far, there was nothing she couldn’t repeat. It was more so he could marvel at her talent, and Anne wasn’t complaining.

" _J'aurais dû écouter Anne et mettre plus de crème solaire sur_ ,” she replied, giggling.

Truthfully he should have, and she had been reminding him of that ever since the sun went down. He had little pink patches across his nose and cheeks that would settle down by morning, but was funny to look at.

“Say ‘I’m sorry about those obnoxious society girls earlier’."

" _Je suis désolé pour ces filles de la société odieux plus tôt_ ,” she answered. Then in English; “You don’t have to apologise for them, you didn’t invite them over. And Ashlee was alright."

“You don’t have to go to the spa with them tomorrow,” he told her, his tone sounding as though he were pleading with her. “Say ‘I’d rather you stay with me’."

Anne bit back a smile. " _Je préférerais que tu restes avec moi_."

“Say ‘I wish this trip was longer so I could spend every day like this’."

Her heart was racing, and it was becoming harder to keep her mind focused on speaking another language when Phillip was looking at her so intently. " _Je souhaite que ce voyage était plus long afin que je puisse passer tous les jours comme ça_ ,” she muttered. Her voice then dropped to a whisper. “I don’t think I ever want to go home."

Phillip leaned in closer, his eyes bright and alluring. “Then let’s never leave,” he said, ardently. “Let’s just stay here, in this room."

They kept leaning in, until their faces were centimetres apart. She could feel his breath on her lips, and ever bone in her body ached for his touch again. A few more seconds, and they -

_*ring ring!* *ring ring!*_

Phillip’s phone began blurting out his ringtone, beside them on his bedside table. Reality pulled them away from one another, as Anne clambered under the sheets, feeling embarrassed, while Phillip answered the call. She mouthed to him goodnight, and turned her back on him, though far from tired. If anything, her almost kiss with Phillip had sent her mind whirring. Did she imagine it, or was he leaning in too? Would he have kissed her back? Did he mean what he said, about never leaving the room?

As was the problem thus far with this holiday, Anne was left with more questions than answers regarding any possible relationship with Phillip.


	4. DAY THREE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne discovers some things about Phillip that she isn't too happy to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been late to update, but my week has been so busy with mock exams that I haven't had time to write anything. Thank you all for your support though, and lovely comments.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Anne woke up first, again finding herself entangled in his arms. Her leg was wrapped around his, his arms around her waist, and her face buried in the crook of his neck. Beside her, Phillip was snoring soundly. It never ceased to astound Anne just how well-built he was, his toned body solid under her touch. Gently lifting her head, she took the opportunity to gaze at him.

His expression was one of peacefulness, his lips slightly parted. His hair was ruffled and messy, and Anne had to resist the urge to run her fingers through the dark brown locks. He even had the makings of a slight beard coming along, stubble growing. Phillip was undoubtedly the single most attractive person Anne had ever seen. It sent butterflies soaring in her stomach, as she laid there in his arms, thinking that the night before they had been seconds away from sharing a kiss.

Out of the corner of her eye, Anne spotted the notepad hotels leave on the bedside table for guests filled with scribblings. Carefully, she leant over Phillip and picked it up. She could see that it was a poem, written in his handwriting. He must have been writing late into the night, whilst she slept. Filled wth curiosity, Anne’s eyes scanned the words;

_'Friends we may be, and friends we may stay, if only I could muster up the courage to say, that to me you’re magnificent, a work of art, your perfection’s ingrained on my poor unsteady heart, a girl like you is like a taste of heaven, incomparable, exceptional, my beautiful Lauren’._

As her lips formed the name _‘Lauren’_ , Anne felt her heart sink. So there was another girl. Feeling foolish, and angry with herself, Anne couldn’t believe how stupid she had been to think that Phillip could possibly ever feel the same way about her. Whilst he had asked her if she was currently seeing anyone, she had failed to turn the question back on him. Clearly, by the looks of the poem in her hands, he did harbour feelings for somebody else. From the eloquent way he spoke of her, Anne could tell that Phillip was smitten, perhaps even in love with this _Lauren_.

Stepping out of the bed, her face hot with humiliation and fury, she quickly dressed in the bathroom into a pair of black gym leggings and a matching sports bra. Slipping on her trainers, she turned to glance at Phillip once more - who was still asleep - and left the room.

A run, she hoped, would clear her head. Remind her why she came on the trip; as a favour to Phillip, and a chance to take a break from work. Nothing more, nothing less. Whatever feelings she thought she had about Phillip had to stay buried, if she wanted to leave Jamaica with her heart intact.

After a few miles on the beach, Anne stopped and held her hand out onto a palm tree to steady herself. Her brain felt like a beehive, thoughts encircling her mind like a million bees, all buzzing to get her attention. One thing was irritating her, a nagging doubt; if Phillip truly didn’t like her in the way she wanted him to, then why was he being so flirtatious recently? All the hand holding, all the gazes, all the soft words spoken in her ear, why do them all if there was another girl in the picture?

_Because this is all an act_ , Anne reminded herself. They had to sell their relationship to his parents. Anyway, she knew that Phillip was a flirt, a serial womaniser for lack of a better term. She’d read the articles on him, out of sheer curiosity. He’d been linked to a series of models, and actresses, and heiresses.

_That was before the theatre_ , her brain pointed out. And anyway, his parents weren’t at the beach yesterday. _He didn’t have to keep up the pretence if he didn’t want to._

Anne couldn’t deny that Phillip had been more than pretending with her about their relationship. Even when they were alone, he was exactly the same with her. Still smiling as though she were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, still laughing with her as though she were the funniest girl he’d ever met, and still holding her as though she were the only girl he’d ever wanted.

Except, now there was another girl.

There was too many things to think about, and Anne wasn’t in the right frame of mind to consider them all rationally. Instead, she continued her run, not stopping until she was gasping for air.

* * *

After returning to their room to get washed and dressed properly, into a pretty blue, polka dot dress with straps that stopped just above her knees, her bikini on underneath, Anne saw that Phillip was no longer asleep. He had left a note - on the same pad of paper that he had written the poem on, though conveniently that had been torn off - telling her that he had gone down for breakfast. Feeling her tummy rumble, Anne decided to join him, though she wasn’t sure what she was going to say.

As she walked into the dining room, Phillip spotted her from across the room, and stood up out of his seat. Ever the gentleman. He beamed at her, and Anne felt her steely facade crumble slightly.

“I’d wondered where you’d gone when I woke up and you weren’t there,” he told her, tucking her chair in for her. His good manners and kind gestures were making it difficult to remain indifferent towards him.

“I’m sorry, I just went for a run,” Anne apologised, barely looking him in the eye. “I should've left a note."

Phillip waved it off, and ordered his breakfast as the waiter approached them. When he finished, he turned to Anne and asked her what she would like.

“Can I just have some toast please? And a coffee?"

“Are you not hungry?” Phillip inquired, a smirk playing on his lips. “I thought you’d have ordered at least half the menu."

Chuckling half-heartedly, Anne shook her head. “I guess I’m still full from last night."

Every time she looked over her steaming mug of coffee at Phillip, she couldn’t help but remember the poem, and the other girl. _The girl he should have brought on this trip_ , Anne thought to herself, bitterly.

Anne didn’t say a word during breakfast, which she could see was worrying Phillip. He frowned, and tried to reach out to hold her hands in his, when she pulled away from. An odd, unreadable expression crossed his face, and his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked her, softly. “You’ve barely touched your toast, and you haven’t said a thing."

“I’m just missing W. D.,” she dismissed the question, taking a gulp of coffee, unable to meet his eyes.

Unfortunately, Phillip saw straight through her ruse. “Have I done something?” he inquired, his voice tender and gentle. He sounded genuinely concerned for her.

She couldn’t lie to him. Not when he was looking at her with such compassionate eyes. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself. “Who’s Lauren?"

Phillip’s features dropped, and he appeared as though he had been caught out. That didn’t bode well. Before he could provide her with an answer, Ashlee appeared, all smiles. “Are you ready for our spa day?” she beamed, not waiting for Anne to reply, as she coiled her hand around her wrist and swept her away. Phillip got up to say something, but Ashlee wagged her finger in his face. “You can see your fiancé later, as of now she’s mine."

With that, Ashlee pulled a rather reluctant Anne towards the direction of the spa, as Anne tried to bury her conflicted feelings about Phillip and the poem. She was even less in the mood to spend the day with the girls, but saw no other option. She couldn’t bring herself to spend another day with Phillip like the day before, not when she knew that her crush on him was growing deeper by the second.

* * *

What was supposed to be a somewhat relaxing day in the spa, turned into what felt like a job interview. The girls were prying, and eager to learn everything about her and Phillip’s relationship. Anne stuck to their story, which was that they met at the charity gala, and that she was a ballroom dancer. They lapped up her every word, and she soon realised that it hadn’t possibly struck them that it was all a deception. She had no cause to be worried.

Emily, the unpleasant girl whose French had left a lot to be desired, admired her newly manicured nails with an air of superiority. “I can’t say I wasn’t surprised,” she drawled, glancing over at Anne. “When Phil introduced you to us as his new fiancé. You don’t seem like his type."

Trying to quell her bitterness, Anne took a deep breath. “What do you mean? What is his type?"

The girls all giggled. “Blonde,” they all replied, in unison.

Disheartened, Anne couldn’t help but wonder if Lauren had blonde hair. Sensing her discomfort, Ashlee smiled over at her. “I’d love to see you and Phil dancing together,” she said, beaming. “Promise me you’ll dance tonight?"

Nodding, Anne was grateful for her kindness. Yes, she may not have been her friend if they’d met in a different place at a different time, but here Ashlee was, extending a hand of friendship to her. Anne took it, graciously. The others certainly weren’t going to do the same. They saw only a black sheep, a creature so different from them that they knew nothing else but to shun her. They were wealthy, they were white, and they were wicked.

The conversation then turned to the past, of their days in college. This was when Anne discovered that the three of them knew Phillip from college, in New York. It explained their upturned noses. Emily began to reminisce on their escapades, more specifically ones that included Phillip.

“Do you remember the time that Phillip and I were caught by the Dean in the laboratory?” she sniggered, ensuring that Anne heard every syllable. “When he forced us to sit in his office, half naked?”

Whilst the other girl, who Anne knew to be called Brittany, joined in with Emily’s laughter, Ashlee cast a cautious glance over at Anne.

“I don’t think Anne wants to hear about this, Em,” she muttered, carefully.

Anne furrowed her eyebrows, and frowned. “Hear about what?"

Ignoring Anne, Emily merely tossed her hair over he shoulder. “Surely Anne knows me and Phillip have a past?” She turned to look over at Anne, and smirked nastily. “No? Oh, how odd. You’d have thought, being engaged and all, that he would have told you his ex was going to be here."

Suddenly feeling even more self-conscious, Anne shifted, uneasily. “Excuse me, but I have to go and . . . excuse me,” Anne stumbled, getting up. She turned to walk towards the doors of the spa, Ashlee calling after her. A wave of nausea hit Anne, unsure of how many revelations she was going to be able to handle in the next four days.

Still dressed in her robe, only her yellow bikini on underneath, white slides on her feet, Anne walked through the hotel. She was making her way back to the room, when Spencer appeared. He’d clearly been enjoying a mid-morning cocktail or two, by the way he was staggering down the corridor. He caught Anne’s attention, and grinned at her.

“Well, if isn’t the future Mrs Carlyle,” he stuttered, his eyes roaming over her.

Pulling her dressing gown further across her body, Anne tried to move past him. However, he’d put his arm up on the wall, and stopped her.

“You’re not getting away from me that easy,” he told her, in a low voice.

Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, Anne tried again to brush past him. “I need to get back to my room - "

“I can’t believe Phillip managed to keep you to himself for this long,” Spencer muttered, stepping closer. His hand reached out and tried to slip up her robe, when she flinched and slapped him across the face. He stumbled backwards, holding his face, a shocked expression across his features. Anne rushed back to her room, and slammed the door behind her.

Phillip was sat inside, on the balcony doing work. He looked up at her, and grinned. Her heart was pounding, and seeing Phillip sat there wasn’t helping. He stood up, and walked over to her, slowly.

“How was your morning?” he asked, nicely.

“Fine,” she replied, hastily. She couldn’t get what Emily had said out of her head, nor what Spencer had just tried to do, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the mystery girl. Her morning had been anything but fine.

Catching her trepidation, Phillip stepped forward again, and cocked his head. “Did something happen?"

Anne wanted so badly to tell him what happened, wanted to get it off her chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She was there as a favour to him, not to make matters worse. So, instead she ran a hand through her curly locks, and took a deep breath.

“I just feel out of place,” she said, sitting down on the bed. Phillip moved to be in front of her, and knelt down, his kind and considerate blue eyes captivating hers. It was such a sweet gesture. “Ashlee is friendly, but the other two . . . they remind me of the girls who tease me at dance auditions back in New York. The ones that pull my hair because they don’t understand how it’s curled, or make monkey noises when I try and speak up for myself."

Phillip reached out and took her hands in his, and squeezed. “I won’t let them make you feel bad again, I promise,” he assured her, softly. “You shouldn’t be made to feel this way, not by girls who couldn’t hold a candle to you."

They held each other’s gaze for a few moments, and for a split second Anne thought Phillip was going to kiss her when his eyes slipped to glance at her lips. She tensed at the thought, when he got to his feet, letting her hands go. He gave her a short smile, this time feeling as though he’d had to plaster it on, and scratched the back of his head.

“I’ll let you get dressed,” he muttered, heading towards the door. “If you need anything, I’ll be down in the lobby."

* * *

Phillip and Anne walked arm in arm into the ballroom. Just like their first night in Jamaica, all eyes were on them. As it was the rehearsal dinner, everybody was in their finest. Phillip had dressed in a light navy suit, with a white shirt and matching navy tie. He had paired it with a rather lavish watch, and on his feet were a pair of black shoes. He was incredibly handsome, though he was aware that all eyes were on the girl on his arm, including his.

Rather coincidentally, Anne had also chosen a blue dress to wear. It was simple, with thin straps and a few ruffles, but the leg slit was a nice touch. She had on a pair of blue heels, and her gold hoops. Her hair was down, and naturally curly. She was breathtaking, and Phillip felt honoured to have her beside him.

However, he couldn’t deny how tense she was. She hadn’t smiled, not truly, the whole day. She was off with him at breakfast, when she had asked who Lauren was. She had clearly read the poem, which he was stupid enough to leave out for her to find. When the name had rolled off her tongue, Phillip could have kicked himself. Anne shouldn’t have known.

There was something niggling at the back of his mind. Anne appeared upset, but what did she have to be upset about? Was it because the poem was for another girl? And, if so, did that mean she had feelings for him?

All of that had to be set aside as they stepped into the room, and other guest descended on them. Both Phillip and Anne behaved like the perfect couple - a little too naturally. Phillip was keenly aware of how Anne’s hand never left his body, whether it was clasped in his or pressed against his chest. It was as though she wanted to be near him, rather than out of necessity. Just one glance over at Spencer and Ashlee proved to him that couples - real ones - didn’t have to be glued to one another for it to be true.

That thought made Phillip grin wildly, catching Anne’s attention. She looked at him, puzzled. “What is it?” she asked him, when they had a few moments alone.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, still beaming. “It’s just, being here with you. It makes me happy."

Anne blushed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a pretty gesture, and it made Phillip’s heart skip a beat.

He took his seat at the top table, and watched Anne sit down near the back. The parents of the bride and groom read out some short speeches, and then all the attention was on Phillip to deliver his speech, as the best man. Pulling out the piece of paper from his breast pocket, he cleared his throat. He was a natural writer, and this speech had practically flowed from his pen the night before. It was especially easy with Anne sleeping beside him. He just had to look to her for inspiration.

“These days, there is so much pressure on finding the right person. If it’s not the countless dating apps or sad songs on the radio reminding you that time is running out to settle down, then it’s your parents, demanding grandchildren at every Christmas dinner you spend with them. However, when you do find that person, the one person you’re destined to be with, then it makes all the waiting and pestering worth it. I believe in soulmates. I believe in meeting someone, and knowing straight away that they’re the only one for you."

Phillip looked up from his piece of paper, and across the room at Anne. She was hanging onto his every word, her lips parted ever so slightly, eyes wide.

“There are moments when such a love can take your breath away, like when you’re the only two souls left in work after hours, and she gets a noodle stuck on her chin and whilst she’s blushing trying to wipe it away, you’re sat there thinking she’s still the most beautiful girl you’ve ever laid eyes on. Or, when you drive her home, and the pair of you are sat talking in the car for hours because neither one of you can bear to say goodbye. Or, when you’re in a room filled with people, but she’s the only person that you can see."

Though the crowd were smiling, and laughing at his anecdotes, Phillip made sure that his eyes never left Anne’s. He spotted a lady on her table whisper something in her ear, and saw Anne blush.

“I hope that Spencer and Ashlee have managed to find a love like that, because it truly is the only thing that matters. We were put on this earth to live and love. To Spencer and Ashlee."

The crowd echoed his sentiments, and Phillip sat back down, as Emily stood to deliver her speech as maid of honour. Whilst she made a joke about having to follow a playwright, all he could think about was how he hoped that Anne knew he had meant every single word.

* * *

The first chance he could, Phillip scooped up Anne and led her out onto the dance floor. It was a fast song, _24K Magic_ by Bruno Mars, and while Phillip could barely keep up with Anne, he relished in just being near to her. Glancing around, he couldn’t help but marvel on the fact that Anne was by far the best dancer out of all the guests.

They didn’t say anything to one another, the music being too loud for them to even attempt to have a conversation. That was until the DJ changed the song to a slower one, and all the couples around them pulled one another close. Phillip placed a hand around Anne’s waist, and held her hand in his, whilst her spare one rested on his shoulder.

“What did that woman say to you?” Phillip inquired, curiously.

Anne blushed, and couldn’t meet his eyes. “She told me that you must love me a lot, from the way you were talking about me in your speech,” she muttered. She was quick to add; “Lauren's a lucky girl."

Leaning forward, Phillip could smell Anne’s intoxicating coconut shampoo. “You’re Lauren,” he whispered into her ear. He pulled back and saw the shock in her eyes. “You really think I was going to write a poem about you, using your name, and leave it lying around for you to find? It was a reference to your Lauryn Hill shirt."

Anne didn’t say anything, and at first that scared Phillip. Had he done the wrong thing? Had he frightened her off? Just when panic was about to hit, Anne leant forward and rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel her smile, and her hand slipped to his chest, as he held her close. Phillip smiled, as the pair continued to dance slowly, clutching onto one another.

They’re among the last to leave, merely enjoying one another’s company. Every song that came on, the pair danced to it as enthusiastically, or in Phillip’s case as awfully, as they could muster. Phillip twirled and dipped Anne, as she laughed, her beauty radiant. She’d kicked her heels off a long time ago, and while she was still taller than him, the height difference wasn’t too bad.

Ashlee and Spencer approached them, tapping Phillip on the shoulder. “Hey Phil, that was a beautiful speech earlier,” Ashlee told him, clasping her hands together, beaming. “Me and Spence were wondering if the pair of you wanted to join us on a boat ride tomorrow?"

Looming behind her, as though he were sulking, Spencer seemed less interested in the idea than his fiancé. In fact, he seemed bitter about the suggestion. Phillip noticed a small cut on his cheek, and frowned, wondering where it had come from.

“We’d love to,” Phillip answered, glancing over at Anne to make sure she was in agreement. Her smile assured him she was.

“Brilliant!” Ashlee exclaimed. “We’ll see you at ten o’clock, in the lobby, alright?"

The couple then left, as Anne picked up her shoes. Looking down at his watch, Phillip saw that it had just gone past one o’clock in the morning. They had danced all evening. They started to head towards their room, yawns erupting from their mouths.

“Did you see Spencer’s cut?” Phillip asked, pressing the button on the elevator. He saw Anne shift uncomfortably next to him, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “What?"

She took a while to answer. “I slapped him” she admitted, sheepishly.

Phillip couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips, as the doors opened. “Not that I disagree, but why?"

“Don’t get mad,” she warned him, which only caused his laughter to cease as he felt anxious. “But when I was walking back from the spa earlier, in just my swimming costume and robe, Spencer saw me. He’d been drinking, and he . . . well, he made a move. Tried to put his hand up my dressing gown. I didn’t know what to do, so I hit him and ran."

Blood boiling, Phillip clenched his fists. He knew Spencer was a dirtbag, but he hadn’t thought that he’d stoop so low as to flirt with somebody else whilst he was three days away from getting married. There was nothing Phillip wanted more than to find Spencer, and give him something more than a flimsy cut to worry about. However, Anne’s hands were on his arms, as though she were holding him back.

“It’s fine,” she told him, calmly. “He was drunk, and he probably didn’t know what he was doing. I don’t think that he’ll try anything like that again."

_She didn’t know Spencer_ , thought Phillip.

Instead, he let Anne steer him into their room, where she poured him a glass of water. He drank it all in one gulp, feeling steadier. Anne beamed at him, then yawned again. “Perhaps you should get some sleep,” Phillip suggested, watching her eyes fall.

She nodded, as she reached under her pillow for her pyjamas - or, what passed for pyjamas - and disappeared into the bathroom to get changed. Phillip slipped out of his suit, and into his own pyjamas, just as Anne reappeared. He threw back the covers for her, and turned out the lights. Just as his own eyes began drooping shut, he felt Anne wriggle up beside him, placing her head on his chest. Smiling, he held her close, and planted a soft kiss atop of her head. She was already snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Phillip's suit think of the one Zac Efron wore to the _Baywatch_ premiere in Miami, and for Anne's dress think of the one Zendaya wore to the _Spiderman: Homecoming_ photo call in Spain.


	5. DAY FOUR.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Phillip are forced to take drastic action to keep up the act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has taken ages, I've just been away for a week. Hopefully this chapter more than makes up for my absence.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Phillip was the first to awake, the sound of the waves bringing him out of slumber. The balcony doors had been left open, and through them the sun seeped in. Almost immediately, he felt Anne’s breath against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. They had fallen asleep holding one another, and had only become more entangled as the night went on, with Anne now draped across his body. Her hands were on his chest, his shirt in her fists as she pulled him closer. One of her legs was sprawled across his hips, the other intwined with his. Her face was buried in his neck, lips brushing his skin.

His own breathing had become shallow. Anne’s body heat and the feel of her skin on his was sending his mind, and body, wild. They’d woken up like this every morning since they’d arrived in Jamaica, but never had they been this close, both physically and emotionally. She was practically on top of him, and barely wearing anything.

There was something else different too. The previous day, Anne had been unable to look him in the eyes, or utter two words to him. He later discovered it was because she had read the poem he had written for her, thinking it was about another girl. _She had been jealous_. Jealous that he had feelings for another girl perhaps. That thought alone was both exhilarating and confusing. Exhilarating because there was a possibility that Anne liked him, as more than a co-worker and a friend. At least, she liked him enough to be bothered about him being with somebody else. Confusing because what should he do about it? Should he make a move, come clean about how he felt about her? Or should he keep his distance, wait for her to say something? What if he had misread the signals, and she didn’t see him as anything more than friends, perhaps even less than?

It was all too much to think about, with Anne pressed against his body, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and black panties. He tried to take his mind off of the situation, racking his brain for literally anything else to think about, but it was useless. Anne had consumed him. Everything about her was intoxicating.

Instead, Phillip sighed, and tried to go back to sleep, though it was fruitless. Every move Anne made sent his heart racing, and brought goosebumps to his flesh. Especially, when she began to run her hands up and down his chest in her sleep, moaning under her breath.

“Mmm,” she muttered, causing Phillip’s breath to hitch in his throat. Her fingertips on his chest, even through the cotton material of his shirt, and the moans she was making were doing things to his body that he’d have been ashamed to admit. “Yes . . . Phillip . . . "

Phillip stifled a gasp. Was she dreaming . . . _about him?_ From the sounds that were coming out of her mouth, he assumed that her dream certainly wasn’t PG either. His heart was pounding so loud now he was afraid it would wake her up, and just when he wanted to hear more.

Suddenly, his phone began to ring on the dressing table across the room, and Anne’s eyes shot open. Cursing under his breath, Phillip jumped up to answer it. He had half a mind to throw the phone off the balcony for disrupting them.

“What?” he barked down the phone, blood boiling.

“Woah, woah, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” came P. T.’s voice, chuckling away to himself. _If only he knew_ , Phillip thought. “I’m only calling to check you got the email I sent you yesterday, regarding the revised wages for the dancers?"

Revised wages? That meant lowered. Phillip couldn’t help but take a glance over at Anne, who was scrambling to sit up in the bed, pulling the sheets around her, blushing. “No, I didn’t,” he sighed.

“I need you to take a look as soon as possible,” P. T. told him. “I saw the bank statements, Phil. It’s not good. It’s really not good. If we don’t get that money soon - "

“Yeah, well I’m working on it, alright?” he snapped, unable to stop the exasperation from seeping into his tone. The combination of Anne’s dream being cut short and the bad news was making his tempers fray. Sighing again, he tried to calm down. “I’ll talk to you later."

Hanging up the phone, he rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. He looked over at Anne, whose eyebrows were knitted together. “It was P. T.,” he told her, in answer to her unspoken question.

Before she could reply, they heard a knock on the door, and the sound of Ashlee’s chirpy voice on the other side. Both Phillip and Anne’s eyes widened, as they heard the door rattle open.

“Quick, over here!” Anne hissed, gesturing for him to join her back in the bed. “We’re supposed to be a couple, remember?"

At that reminder, Phillip raced over, and threw himself under the sheets. In what felt like a hasty decision, Anne rolled on top of him, her legs straddling his waist, as she bent down and placed her lips on his. The kiss was electric to say the least. Her hands were clasped on either side of his face, her slender body pressed so tightly against his that there wasn’t a space between them. Once the initial shock had swept over him, Phillip felt himself giving into the kiss. Their lips moved together as one, and his hands went to her back, holding her close. It was so full of passion, that he feared he was the one dreaming.

When they heard a gasp, Anne pulled away from him, and looked towards the door. Phillip was too stunned that all he could do was stare at her.

“Oh, we didn’t hear you come in,” Anne laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, still perched on top of him.

Ashlee chuckled too. “Clearly,” she replied. “We only wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten about today."

We? Phillip snapped his head in the direction of Ashlee’s voice, and saw not only her, but Spencer also. He was stood beside her, hands on hips as he regarded the scene in front of him with enjoyment. The sight of him made Phillip jaw clench. He wanted to make an effort to move from under Anne, uncomfortable under their scrutiny, but he also selfishly loved having her so close. And, he knew that it would only prove to Spencer that Anne was his, even if it all was pretend.

“About the boat trip?” Anne asked.

Nodding, Ashlee smirked. “We’ll see you two in an hour - if you can keep your hands off each other for that long."

The pair then left, but not before Spencer sent Phillip a wink. As the door closed behind them, Phillip suddenly became very aware of Anne’s body on top of his. Her legs were either side of him, and his hands had somehow came to rest on her bare thighs. Her soft curls were ticking his face as she leant over him, and he was captivated by her warm, chestnut eyes. She was so breathtakingly beautiful, that he could barely believe the situation they were in.

“Quick thinking,” he muttered, as Anne sat up.

Still perched on top of him, she flashed him a grin, biting her lip. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I met you,” she admitted.

Then, she swung herself off of him and disappeared into the bathroom to get washed and changed, leaving Phillip laying in the bed, eyes wide. Had he heard right? Had she really wanted to kiss him for as long as they’d known each other? Because he’d certainly wanted to kiss her. His lips tingled at the memory, his skin burning everywhere she had touched him. Lifting up the sheets, he could see what Anne did to him, and he uttered expletives under his breath. Did Anne know it was there? Had she felt it? How awkward.

Sitting up and running a hand through his locks, Phillip sighed. What he needed was a long, cold shower. Especially if he was going to spend the day with Anne in a swimsuit again.

* * *

Phillip and Anne stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby, where they spotted Ashlee and Spencer waiting for them. Feeling Anne’s hand slip into his, he glanced over at her.

“We’re supposed to have just slept together,” she reminded him, in a quiet voice. “If we want them to believe this, we need to start selling it."

 _Slept together_. Phillip gulped, trying hard to not imagine it. Despite his shower, if Anne was going to carry on saying things like that he was going to have a heart attack.

She was right though. So far they’d played the doting couple, but besides that one kiss on the cheek, the occasional hand-holding, and the dances, they hadn’t really done much to convince people they were madly in love. Was that why Anne had suddenly become all touchy-feely? Was it all to keep up the act? His head was all over the place.

Waving over at them, Ashlee was grinning from ear to ear. Beside her, Spencer was making no attempt at concealing his blatant attraction to Anne, whom he was looking up and down. It was making Phillip’s blood boil.

Anne was wearing a light blue denim skirt and white blouse, a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head. She was free of make-up again, and Phillip wondered why she ever wore any in the first place, for she was so pretty without it. She had on a pair of her beloved scuffed sneakers too. Phillip had opted to wear his red swimming trunks, and a grey t-shirt, flimsy flip flops on his feet.

“Ready to go?” Ashlee asked, as the group all nodded.

They all made their way down to the docks, where a very big, and very expensive-looking yacht was waiting for them. Phillip felt Anne tense up next to him, and he suddenly remembered her lack of swimming skills. He put his arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her, and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. It felt natural, to behave in such a warm way to her, that Phillip hadn’t realised what a ‘coupley’ thing it had been until afterwards.

“It’ll be alright,” he told her, softly. “You’ll be safe with me."

Aboard the boat, he sat close to her, in part for her reassurance, but also for his own selfish desire. He had been craving her touch for so long, that after the morning when she had quite literally been all over him, he was desperate for more.

When they hit a particularly choppy wave, Anne’s hand shot to his leg, where she gripped him tightly. However, as the journey went on, she calmed down, eventually allowing herself to relax.

Spencer and Ashlee were sat across from them, as they all sipped on sparkling water - it was still too early for alcohol, even for Spencer’s standards. “So, how did you two meet?” Ashlee inquired, leaning forward.

Phillip glanced at Anne, and hoped she remembered the story. “Do you want to tell it, or should I?"

Beaming, Anne took ahold of his hand in hers. “Why don’t you, baby? I love it when you tell it."

Gulping, Phillip tried not to let himself get distracted. The way the word _baby_ rolled off her tongue, and the dazzling smile on her lips was stirring something inside of him that he wished would stay buried.

“Well, we met at a charity gala in New York. I was trying to drum up some business with some stiff-collared Broadway moguls, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Anne was dancing, with another man. I was entranced by her. I didn’t have enough courage to ask her for a dance, so instead I waited until she was alone. I could barely get a word out, and she had to do most of the talking. I got her number, and a few days later I finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. The rest is history."

“That’s not like you, Phil,” Spencer piped up, smirking. “You never had any problem chatting up girls in college."

Phillip wished that Spencer had never spoken, as he saw Anne’s smile slip ever-so-slightly. “None of them were Anne though, were they?”

Spencer shook his head. “Certainly not."

The conversation then turned to how Spencer proposed, and Phillip tried his best to feign interest. Then, as time went on and the sun glared down on them, people began to start shedding layers. Phillip took his shirt off, as did Spencer, whilst the girls took their clothes off, revealing bikinis underneath. Phillip couldn’t tear his eyes away from Anne, who was positively glowing. She slid the denim skirt down her legs, and his heart actually felt as though it stopped.

Beside him, Spencer slid up next to him, and nudged Phillip in the arm. “Man, she is fine,” he muttered under his breath. Phillip followed his line of sight, and saw Spencer’s eyes on not his wife, but glued to Anne. “How’s she in bed? After what I saw this morning, she looks like she certainly knows what she’s doing. You might have got your hands full with this one - "

Fists tight and jaw clenched, Phillip tried to calm himself down. “Don’t talk about Anne like that,” he hissed, fuming.

“What’s with the hostility, Phil? You were always up for some guy talk."

“I’ve grown up,” he bit back. “Anne’s not a piece of meat for you to leer at. I know where that bruise came from too. I’ll tell Ashlee everything if you go near Anne again."

With that warning, Phillip got up and sat on the other end of the boat, trying to let his anger subside.

* * *

Meanwhile, Anne and Ashlee were huddled together, discussing Phillip’s past. Most of it was amusing, hearing about his wild antics involving racoons and professors, balloons and the chess team, and a rather unbelievable story about a batch of 'organic' brownies and a Senator’s wife. However, the conversation then turns to ex-girlfriends, as Ashlee tried to apologise for Emily they day before in the spa.

“I think she’s just bitter, that Phillip’s managed to move on,” she sighed, taking a sip of the sparkling water. “Emily had their whole life planned out, where they were going to live, what their kids were going to be called. She even had a wedding dress hanging up in her dorm room."

Anne’s eyes bulged out of her head. “A wedding dress? That’s a bit . . . much, don’t you think?"

Cocking her head, Ashlee’s eyebrows furrowed. “Not really, they were engaged after all,” she answered.

Anne couldn’t believe what she had just heard. _Engaged?_ Phillip had been engaged to be married? To that snobby, fake-tanned, cow? Anne felt a fool for never knowing, and even more a fool for thinking that she could ever be Phillip’s type. The girls had joked yesterday that Phillip usually preferred blondes, and while it had disheartened her to hear, she had managed to brush it off. Now, however, it rang even more true. Perhaps she really was delusional for thinking he could feel the same, when everything around them was trying to tell her it was impossible. But then she thought about the poem, and her head started to spin.

“Phillip was smitten with Emily, I’m surprised he never told you,” Ashlee continued. “They were engaged for a few months, until she broke it off. He was heartbroken, so much so that he disappeared on a trip around Europe for eight months. _‘To find himself’_ I think."

Anne felt even more torn than ever, knowing that Phillip had kept - was capable of keeping - such an important aspect of his life from her, was disappointing. Though, she had to reprimand herself for taking it so personally - she had hardly told him about her father, or lack of, had she?

Later, when Ashlee had decided to work on her tan and fell asleep on a lounger, Anne was absent-mindedly reading her book, trying hard not to think about Phillip. She was failing miserably. All her mind would allow her to focus on was _that_ poem, the one he had written for her. Had he just told her that so she would continue the pretence without being mad? She remembered what he had said when she confronted him about it, when he had said that the name Lauren was a reference to the Lauryn Hill t-shirt she wore, afraid that she would read it and know it was about her. However, the matter of the issue was that he had left it lying around. Either he had wanted her to read it or it really didn’t matter to him if she was to read it.

She knew she was reading too much into the situation, dwelling on it too much. She had always been a worrier. Worried about using the right colours in kindergarten for her drawings, worried about beating know-it-all Kelly Nelson in the science fair in middle school, worried about her brother when he came home with black eyes from fights. Now, she was worried that she she had opened herself up to Phillip, and he wasn’t going to feel the same.

As she tried to put it out of her mind, Phillip approached her, and took the seat beside her. He was shirtless, and his tan was coming along nicely, muscles glistening. She attempted to keep her eyes glued to the page, but it was proving tricky. He was especially irresistible without clothes on.

“I’m sorry about today,” he sighed, giving her an incredibly warm smile that made her insides do somersaults. “Are you alright? Being on the water I mean. I realise this probably isn’t you idea of fun - mine neither to be honest."

His consideration only proceeded to rub more salt in the wound. A wound getting bigger the more he smiled at her, and the closer he edged to her.

“It ain’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be,” she replied, setting her book down in her lap. She couldn’t bring herself to plaster on a grin.

Phillip glanced down at the book, and delicately picked it up, his fingertips brushing the cover as though it were a lost treasure he’d just uncovered, and not some tatty book she’d kept from her ninth grade English Literature class. “ _The Great Gatsby_ ,” he muttered, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve yet to read this. Scandalous, I know, for a writer to say he’s never read such a masterpiece of - "

“Why didn’t you tell me you had been engaged?” Anne suddenly blurted out, unable to contain herself.

Taken aback, Phillip’s eyes shot up to look at her, the piercing blue resembling the waters behind him. He gave the book back, and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t important,” he finally replied, shrugging.

A shrug! Not important! That was how little he thought about the engagement that had rendered him heartbroken? Anne was shocked, to say the least. She had expected nostalgia at the bare minimum, not a dismissal.

“It sounded important,” she told him, eyebrows knitted together. “Ashlee says that you were heartbroken when Emily called it off, that you disappeared for eight months _‘finding yourself'_ around Europe."

Phillip laughed, and shook his head. “That’s the story Emily told everyone,” he explained. “I broke off the engagement. I didn’t love her, not really. The idea of having to spend the rest of my life with her was . . . unbearable. There was also the matter of her and Jared sneaking around behind my back. I left college because I’d wanted to leave the second I stepped foot inside the doors. My father had enrolled me in business subjects, all the tiresome and draining courses you could imagine; economics, accounting, corporate law - the whole works. Realising I didn’t want to marry Emily also caused me to realise that I didn’t want to take after my father and join him in business. Instead, I quit college and travelled around Europe as a freelance writer - I wrote for plenty of travel journals. I left without saying goodbye to anyone, so whatever anybody heard about why I’d gone would have come from Emily, in an attempt to keep her pride."

“Oh,” was all Anne said. She felt a blush creeping in, and couldn’t meet Phillip’s eyes.

He leant in, and she felt his breath tickling her ear. “Were you jealous?” he asked, softly.

Trying to cover her tracks, and not wanting Phillip to see how vulnerable she had been, she frowned. “I was embarrassed when Ashlee brought it up,” she answered, half lying, half telling the truth. “It looked like I don’t know anything about _my fiancé_."

Phillip’s hand enveloped hers, as he gave her another dashing smile. “I’m sorry, I should have told you about it."

Retracting her hand, Anne pulled down her sunglasses from her head onto the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want Phillip to see tears forming in her eyes as she said her next sentence “You’re lucky this is all pretend,” she sighed. “‘Cause if I really was your fiancé, I wouldn’t have been too happy to find that your ex was gonna be here too."

Anne told herself that she imagined the hurt that flashed in Phillip’s eyes.

* * *

They walk back into the hotel, a little more distant than they had been before. Their hands were barely brushing, and the small contact was unbearable for Anne. Phillip had barely said a word to her since they stepped off the boat, and the lump in her throat made it difficult to say anything either. All she wanted was to curl up in bed - her own bed - and go to sleep.

Before the trip, she knew that she had some feelings for Phillip, though she had brushed it off as a silly schoolgirl type of crush. Then, they arrived in Jamaica, and all the hand-holding, and heart-eyes, and the kisses all started, and Anne fell even harder, though allowed herself to say it was all pretend. Then Phillip would hold her hand when nobody was around, and be kind to her, and that best man speech, and look at her lips occasionally as she spoke, and cuddle up next to her in their sleep, and the supposed poems he wrote for her and it all became too much.

She was in love with him, but had no way of knowing if he felt the same way - not without putting herself out there, and Anne wasn’t sure she was ready, or quite strong enough, to do that.

Suddenly, as they turned to walk into the elevator, Phillip’s parents appeared. Internally, Anne groaned, though managed to plaster on a fake smile, as she took Phillip’s hand in hers quickly. She felt how tense he was, and squeezed his hand to calm him.

“Ah, Phillip dear,” his mother cooed, her eyes slowly wandering over to Anne. They narrowed, and her smile slipped from her face. “And Anne. We were just looking for the pair of you. Wondered if you would like to eat dinner with us?

Her voice was so sharp, and her tongue so quick, that Anne was afraid to say no. Turning to Phillip, she waited for him to answer for both of them.

Nodding, he beamed at his parents, though Anne knew when it was real and when it was fake. “That sounds wonderful,” he replied. “What time?"

“We’ve reserved a table for seven,” his mother answered. Clearly, she had not been expecting them to say no. “It’s in one of the nicer restaurants - none of this buffet nonsense. Dress appropriately, please."

As Phillip and Anne turned to leave, his mother called after her. “Anne, dear? Don’t wear heels. You’ll be taller than Phillip, and what girl wants to be taller than their man?"

Anne pretended that the comment didn’t hurt, as she disappeared with Phillip behind the elevator doors. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Anne looked at the floor, shuffling on her feet. Her height had been a great source of discomfort for her throughout school, especially during the awkward phase where she had towered over all the boys in her year. Five foot ten was still an insurmountable height, and many men barely scraped it.

She could feel Phillip’s eyes on her, as she tried her best to stay composed.

“Ignore her,” he told her, gruffly. “What she says . . . it doesn’t mean anything. Her opinions are . . . they’re outdated and offensive. Don’t pay any attention to her. Please, don’t pay any attention to her."

Anne merely nodded.

They walked into their room, and Phillip sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, as she took a seat on the bed. She watched him pace up and down. This dinner was clearly something that he had been dreading, his mother’s comments only proving to him that there was something to fear. Finally, he stopped, and looked over at Anne, his features softening.

He approached her, and knelt down in front of her, so they were eye-to-eye. “I’m sorry about my mother,” he said, this time softly. His eyes were kind, and his words were full of sympathy. “If we go to that dinner tonight, she’ll say more stupid things. I know what she’s like. She’ll be rude to you, and I don’t want you have to sit there and listen to it. I don’t want her to put you down. You don’t deserve it."

Acting out of instinct, Anne put her hands on his face, and held him steady. He sounded desperate. She gave him a smile - a real one - and brushed her thumb along his jaw. “It’s okay,” she replied, in a gentle tone. “We’ll go and I’ll be alright. Thank you, Phillip."

They remained like that for a little while, and Anne watched as his eyes flickered to her lips again. Goosebumps went down her spine. She wanted to lean in and kiss him, wanted to feel his lips against hers. He smelt like the ocean, and his eyes were as bright as the sea. His skin was soft, and his hair was messy from the wind.

But she looked away. She faltered for a second, thinking too much about the consequences, about what would happen if he flinched from her touch, or if they kissed and they regretted it. When she hesitated, the moment had passed. Phillip stood up, and muttered something briefly about how he needed to take a shower.

That left Anne in the room by herself, to get dressed. She opened the closet, cursing herself for how ridiculous she had been, worrying too much about things. Her fingertips ran across the clothes she had hanging up, trying to decide which dress Mrs Carlyle would approve of most. Chances were that she wouldn’t like any of them. Frowning, she pulled out a multicoloured, long ruffle dress, with straps. The colours were oranges, blues, whites and blacks, and it complimented her skin tone perfectly, especially with her holiday glow.

After slipping the dress on, she sat in front of the mirror and wondered what else to do. She ran a brush through her curls, and decided to leave them down. Her make-up she kept minimal and natural, not wanting to go overboard. Her shoes took a little longer to decide. She wanted to choose something that would make her smaller, but of course that was impossible. Instead, she went for a pair of flat black sandals.

Anne stood up, just as Phillip stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. His skin was glistening with the water, droplets dripping from his hair. He caught sight of Anne, and stood there awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his muscles. Equally, he was staring back at her.

“You look . . . Anne, you’re stunning,” he stuttered, blue eyes wide.

His comment made whatever his mother had said in the past, or was going to say that evening, inconsequential. She blushed as she managed a grin, and thanked him. She then sat out on the balcony whilst he got dressed, trying hard not to imagine Phillip without the towel behind her.

* * *

They walked down to the restaurant together, holding each other’s hand not just for appearances, but for support. This dinner was going to be difficult, and they had decided to do it together. Anne knew if they didn’t go, Phillip would only be letting his parents down more, and she didn’t want them to think so appallingly of him when he was trying so hard.

Catching sight of his parents sat in the furthest corner, they both took a deep sigh and braced themselves. His mother made no attempt to look Anne up and down, her lip curled ever so sightly downwards, whilst his father said nothing as usual.

“Phillip, you look . . . clean,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. _Clean?_ Was that all she could say about her own son? Anne dreaded what she was going to say about her. “Oh, and Anne, nice to see you took my advice onboard. You’re still rather tall though, aren’t you? Are your parents basketball players?"

Whilst Mrs Carlyle laughed, and her husband beside her sniggered, Anne merely allowed Phillip to tuck her into her chair. The blatant racism wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, but it stung all the same.

The menus were then handed to them, and Anne’s eyes widened at the types of foods and the prices next to them. Glancing up, she saw that the three Carlyle’s weren’t fazed at all by the menus. Scanning the page, she tried to find something that she recognised. She settled for poached turbot, sprouting broccoli and sunflower seeds. Lord knows what it would taste like.

Mrs Carlyle ordered a bottle of house wine for the table, to which Phillip then asked for some tap water.

“So, Anne, what is it you do again?” his mother asked, lips pursed. “Somebody told me you were a dancer in Paris?"

Anne nodded. “That’s right,” she replied, as she glanced over at Phillip. “A ballroom dancer."

“But you now live in New York, yes? Whereabouts?"

“Harlem,” she answered.

Phillip’s parents both looked aghast, as his mother set down her glass. “Harlem? The nice part, I hope?"

Before Anne could reply, Phillip jumped in. “Of course, mother,” he lied. Why would he lie? He knew where she lived, he’d been there himself. Surely he would have seen that it was certainly not the nice part.

Frowning, she watched as Mrs Carlyle leaned forward. “What about your family?” she inquired. “What are they like?"

“Well, I have a brother,” she began, feeling Phillip’s eyes on her. “He’s a dancer too. He lives in - "

“In Paris, he still lives in Paris,” Phillip interrupted again, abruptly. “He’s with a company out there, whilst Anne returned to work in New York. You’re very close with him, aren’t you sweetie?"

Not sure what else to do, Anne merely nodded again. Phillip was acting strangely, as though he didn’t want his parents to know the truth.

“And what is it that attracted you to our Phillip here?” Mrs Carlyle asked, placing her hand under her chin.

Anne gulped, and looked across at Phillip again. “Well, he’s certainly charming, ain’t he?” she laughed, nervously. She didn’t want to lie, so remembered when she had met him for the first time. "He caught my eye, and we got chatting about things, and he . . . he made me laugh. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He has a way of making me feel better about things. He’s kind, and he’s sweet."

Phillip was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face, whilst his mother scoffed. “Would you like to know what we think, Anne? We think that you read about Phillip in those awful magazines, or online, and decided that you wanted to get your grubby little hands on his - on our money! Isn’t that right? There’s no chance a girl like you could have been a ballroom dancer in Paris."

Shocked, Anne shook her head. Making her excuses, she gets up and flees the table, feeling sick to her stomach. She can hear footsteps behind her, but doesn’t stop until she reaches the room. She’s crying, as she kicks off her heels, throwing her clutch to the floor. The door behind her shuts, and she knows it’s Phillip.

“It’s harder than I thought,” she muttered, turning to face him. “Being here. It’s so hard. I can’t pretend anymore."

Phillip reached forward, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. His touch was gentle. He held her face in his hands, as her breathing grew shallow. He leant towards her just an inch, and she closed the gap. Kissing him was magical. Their lips were made for one another. Her hands tugged at his shirt, as she tried to pull him closer. It was passionate, and it was amorous.

Breaking away for a second, Anne slid the straps over her shoulder, watching closely as Phillip’s breath hitched in his throat. She slipped out of the dress, the material falling to the floor. She stood, in just her underwear, a black lacy set. Anne fell back on the bed, and she pulled Phillip down with her. “We don’t have to rush this,” he whispered, as she began to kiss his neck.

“I want this,” Anne told him. “I want this with you."

His shirt came off in one swift movement, as he threw it behind him. He started to kiss Anne’s jaw, his hands holding her body close to him. They roamed up and down her waist, and her thighs. She moaned, spurring him on. Her hands were working on unbuckling his trousers, desire building up inside her. Biting her lip, she repeated his name over and over.


	6. DAY FIVE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Phillip face the consequences of their night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about writing a story the opposite to this one, so it's Anne who asks Phillip to pretend to be her boyfriend to take home. Would anyone read that?
> 
> Let me know what you think of this new chapter, I love reading everyone's comments!
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

When Phillip awoke the next morning, Anne’s naked body pressed against his, he couldn’t help but smile. She was holding him, and he was holding her, and for once he was certain that they both knew just who they were holding. She hadn’t accidentally rolled over in the night, or confused him for someone else - she wanted him.

His hands rested on her back, her soft skin warm under his fingertips. Her legs were wrapped up in his, the sheets tangled between them. Her hair was soft against his bare chest, and he could smell her delicious coconut shampoo.

Thinking back to the previous night, he grinned wider. He could hardly believe what had happened, how he ended up beside Anne without their clothes on. He had always known that she was beautiful, but the second she had dropped her dress to the floor, his heart had stopped. She was breathtaking, the black lace fitting her perfectly. Then, when his shaky fingers had taken off the clasp and he’d slipped the material from around her legs, and there was nothing covering her anymore, it dawned on him that he would never meet anybody as gorgeous as Anne.

She kissed him and she touched him in ways nobody had ever before. She was gentle, and she was fiery, and everything in-between. Anne had known just what to say and just what to do with her body to make him feel euphoric. He hadn’t wanted the moment to end.

What was even crazier to think about was how she had wanted him when nobody was around. How it wasn’t his fake fiancé keeping up the act so that their plan wouldn’t be foiled, but it was something she had done of her own accord. Something she had desired as much as him. Did that mean all those times he had thought they were seconds away from kissing, or she had taken his hand, or she had smiled at him - was it all real? Had he not imagined it?

It didn’t have to be love. He loved her, but she didn’t have to love him back. It was enough that she wanted him too.

As though she could sense him thinking about her, she stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She lifted her head to look up at him, a slight blush creeping up on her cheeks. He beamed at her, wondering how it was possible she could look so pretty so early in the morning.

“Good morning,” he said, with a smile.

Anne reached up and planted a quick kiss on his lips, teasing almost. “Morning,” she replied, before catching his lips in another embrace. His hands ran through her hair, her curls silky around his fingers. She pulled away, her hands pressed against his chest.

“What do you want to do today?” Phillip asked her, cocking his head to the side. “We can do anything you want."

She bit her lip, and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Can we explore the island?” she suggested. “We ain’t left the hotel since we got here, and it’s been five days."

Phillip ran his fingers along Anne’s thigh, and he nodded. “That sounds like a plan."

With that, she got out of bed, and walked towards the bathroom. He was transfixed watching her, her hips swaying side to side, her hair bouncing. He heard that shower turn on, as he dropped his head down on the pillow. How lucky was he to wake up to Anne, wearing nothing but a smile? To have her kiss him like that and to touch him like that.

* * *

They stepped off the bus when they arrived in a local town, just next to a market. Phillip watched as Anne ran ahead, eager to take in the culture. She was wearing a red sundress with a floral pattern, and on her feet were the worn down white sneakers she loved so much. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, that was more mess than bun really, but she looked stunning all the same.

She dragged Phillip around all the stalls, pointing at the odd trinkets and the souvenirs. As he saw her excitement grow, her expression joyful, he suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Anne had been cooped up inside the hotel for five days, with all the stares and comments surrounding her wherever she went. He should have taken her out before, and not just before the trip. Watching her have fun, and enjoy herself - properly - made him realise he should have worked up the nerve to ask her out long ago.

Gesturing to the food stalls, Anne asked him if he was hungry. When his stomach rumbled, and after she had finished laughing at it, they sat down on a bench and tucked into some curried shrimp. The sun made Anne’s skin glow, her chocolate brown eyes wide, as she dipped her fork into the paper bowl.

“Isn’t this shrimp incredible?” she asked him, grinning.

Phillip nodded. “Best shrimp I’ve probably ever eaten,” he admitted.

Swivelling in her seat to face him, Anne shook her head. “Now, if you want to taste the best shrimp in the world, you should try my mama’s,” she told him. “It’s an old recipe, Creole soul food, y’know? You’ll never want to eat any other type of shrimp again."

The thought of meeting her family sent shivers down his spine. From what Anne had told him about them, they would certainly be a lot more welcoming than his. He beamed at her, and took her hand in his. “What’s your mom like?"

“She’s . . . she’s great. Kind, warm, compassionate. Strongest person I know. Raised me and W. D. by herself. We had an uncle who stopped by, and my grandma lived in the same neighbourhood, but it was mostly just mama, W. D. and me. It’s clear me and W. D. have different dads, I mean you can see it just by looking at us. Our dads, they were never around, for plenty of different reasons. Mama made sure that we never needed them, though. Worked three jobs just so we could afford the tram to school."

Phillip couldn’t imagine what Anne’s life was like growing up. His mother had never worked a day in her life; she was born wealth, always having clothes on her back and food on the table. Marrying into the Carlyle family young and having a son ensured that the clothes she wore were designer and the food she ate was luxurious. The amount of respect he had for Anne’s family was boundless.

“She’d like you, I think,” Anne continued. “She’d like the fact that you’re a hard worker, that you're nice."

Her words brought a smile to his face. He leant across and kissed her, tasting the spice from the food on her lips. “I think I’d like her too."

* * *

Returning to the hotel, Anne was still admiring the new bracelet around her wrist. It was a dainty thing, made of ivory coloured shells, and when Phillip had spotted it on one of the stalls he knew that he had to buy it to for her. She had smiled so brightly at him when he’d put it around her, that he wanted to buy her everything he laid his eyes on.

They walked through the doors, only to find Ashlee and Spencer exiting the elevator. Groaning, Phillip hoped that they wouldn’t see them, but unfortunately they did.

“Anne! Phil!” Ashlee called out. “I’m so glad we caught you! I wanted to make sure that you remembered that the Bachelor and Bachelorette Parties are tonight. You do remember, don’t you?"

They hadn’t, and Phillip felt his heart sink. The last thing he wanted to do that night was spend it apart from Anne, surrounded by drunken idiots all trying to convince him to get drunk too. Turning to Anne, he saw her plaster a fake smile on, and knew that she wasn’t looking forward to it either.

“Of course,” he lied. He was trying to think of an excuse to get out of it, but Spencer caught him before he could open his mouth.

“You’ve got to be there, Phil, being my Best Man and all,” he explained, grinning stupidly. His eyes raked over Anne, the corner of his mouth curling. “And Anne, I’m sure Ash would love for you to tag along too."

Ashlee’s face lit up. “Oh Anne, please say you’ll come along!"

Phillip watched as Anne hesitated, before nodding.

The pair of them then said their goodbyes and headed back up to their room, dreading the night to come. Once the elevator doors had shut, Anne sighed. “I was looking forward to a night in,” she told him, before smirking. Gulping, Phillip’s imagination ran wild at the words _‘a night in’_.

Yet again, they both began to get ready for another evening. Phillip allowed Anne to use the shower, whilst he got dressed. He chose a white and blue checkered shirt, and a pair of dark blue trousers. When he was slipping on his brown shoes, he heard the bathroom door open and saw Anne peering out. She was blushing, as she stepped out in just her towel. It was short, covering next to nothing, and though Phillip had already seen what was underneath, it didn’t stop his heart from pounding erratically. He waited for her to get ready out on the balcony, watching the sun set.

He heard her call his name from behind, and he went back into their room, only to see Anne stood in a short, black dress. It was very low cut, with thin straps, and had sequins all over it, making it sparkle. On her feet were a pair of black heels, causing her legs to look a mile long. She had miraculously straightened her hair, and her make-up made her glow. In short, she was gorgeous.

Phillip was speechless. While he merely stared at her, drinking her in, she approached him and kissed him. It was deep, and it was passionate. “Don’t go kissing other girls,” she warned him, breathless.

After a kiss like that, he never wanted to kiss anyone again. “I promise,” he told her.

They both then walked down to the lobby, where the groups for both parties were waiting. Ashlee fawned over Anne’s dress, whilst Phillip was led away by Spencer and the others. He waved goodbye to Anne, and disappeared out of the doors. He didn’t want to leave her.

Jared put his arm around Phillip’s shoulders, and already he could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Man, your girl looked . . . super sexy,” he slurred.

His fists tighten, and he grits his jaw. He couldn’t respond to Jared, and instead tried to brace himself for the evening ahead. The other guys were all drunk already, or at least well on their way, and he knew that soon they’d all be pressuring him to pick up a bottle too. He pictured Anne, and knew that she would be so disappointed in him if he did start drinking. He just hoped he would be strong enough without her by his side.

They arrived at a local bar, outside the hotel. Spencer bought the first round, relishing any chance he could get to flash his money around. When Phillip asked for a coke, the group all booed him. He shrugged it off, but knew that the heckling would only get worse as the night progressed. Feeling very uncomfortable, he stood on the outskirts of the group, watching them all down shots and thump each other on the back. They were behaving like frat boys, and it made Phillip want to roll his eyes. They were all twenty-seven years old, they should be acting accordingly.

As Phillip sipped on the coke, he thought it tasted odd. Perhaps it was because the manufacturers were different, being in a foreign country? Whatever it was, he carried on drinking, finding that he rather liked the taste. In fact, he even asked Spencer to order him another one, and then another one. It wasn’t until he’d finished his third coke that it dawned on him why he liked it do much - there was alcohol in it.

He nearly dropped the glass when the realisation hit him. He wanted to stop drinking, he wanted to go back to the hotel and find Anne and just forget he’d ever broken his sobriety. However, the taste of liquor was lingering on his tongue, and it had already started to blur his thinking. So much so that when the next round was ordered, he asked for a glass of whiskey.

* * *

“Let’s all get white girl wasted!” Emily exclaimed, all the girls cheering in response. Her eyes flitted over to glance at Anne, and she cocked her head. “Well, some of us."

Anne sighed. The night was certainly going to be a long one. Looking at the group of blue-eyed, blonde, fake-tanned girls in front of her, she knew that if she wasn’t there with Phillip, then she wouldn’t have been welcome. They weren’t necessarily hostile, with the exception of Emily, but they weren’t opening their arms to her either.

“Don’t worry about them,” Ashlee muttered, as she linked her arm through Anne’s. “They all had a thing for Phillip in college, that’s why they’re looking at you like dress meat. They weren’t a fan of Emily until a few years ago either."

That wasn’t as comforting as Ashlee perhaps has intended, but Anne smiled at her all the same. She knew that other girls found Phillip attractive - they’d be stupid not to see it. Now that she had kissed him, and touched him, and spent the night with him, she felt like she actually had Phillip, as though he were hers. She loved him, more than she had ever loved anybody, and while he may not love her back, she was happy knowing that he had wanted her too. Looking at the group of girls, all of whom were giving her narrow-eyed expressions, she felt smug. Smug because she had Phillip.

What did their night together mean? What did their day at the market mean? It hadn’t just been about the sex, because he had smiled at her the morning after, and kissed her. They’d held each other’s hands, and he’d been looking at her as though she were the most beautiful person he’d ever laid his eyes on. There had to be something else between them, something stronger than the attraction they clearly felt for one another.

They took a taxi to a bar, in the local town. The building was overflowing with people, all of whom who looked like Anne, skin tones just like hers and darker. She felt somewhat more comfortable, knowing that the five girls with her were the outsiders.

Anne had never been much of a drinker, and being twenty-two she hadn’t been legal for long. The others were all older than her, and hadn’t much cause for ID’s. However, when the bartender asked Anne for hers, which she pulled out of her purse to show him, the group all gave her dirty looks, excluding Ashlee. She found it funny.

“I wish I still got asked for ID,” she smiled.

Anne sipped on her cocktail, whilst Emily eyed her suspiciously. “I saw how you and Phillip were holding one another earlier,” she began. “Did you to sleep together before coming down?"

Coughing slightly, taken aback by her comment, she didn’t know what to day. “Excuse me?”

Smirking, Emily leaned closer. “He never could keep his hands off me when we were together,” she continued, self-righteously. If only she knew how laughable she sounded. “I only assumed he was like that with you. Does he do that thing, you know, where he kisses the space behind your ears? God, that always got me going."

Feeling suddenly foolish, Anne didn’t know what to say. She had thought, well she had hoped, that it was all a spur of the moment thing. That what he was doing to her, how he was touching her, was how he was responding to her body. Something he wanted her to feel. Now that she knew it was some kind of signature move of his, she felt silly.

“Listen, I hope that you haven’t fallen too hard for him. Phillip certainly has a way of making girls feel special."

Anne furrowed her brow. “We’re engaged, of course I’ve fallen for him.” Engaged or not, she truly was in love with Phillip.

Emily placed a hand on Anne’s forearm. “You don’t have to pretend anymore,” she whispered. “I know that you’re only here so that Phillip could get his inheritance from his parents."

Even more confused, she pulled her hand back. “What did you say?"

“I overheard Phillip in the restaurant last night,” Emily answered. Anne liked to think that she knew when people were lying to her. Looking at Emily, she could see there was no deception behind her eyes, and her tone was genuine. “You’d left, and his parents were telling him that they knew you weren’t who you said you were. That somebody back home told them you were a dancer in that theatre of Phillip’s, not some Parisian ballroom dancer. Phillip then got angry and told them he’d only lied because he wanted them to think you were good enough to be a Carlyle. He needed a girl that was good enough to convince them to give him the inheritance they promised him."

 _Inheritance?_ What was that about? He had told her that he needed her, no wanted her, to come along so that his parents would be proud of him, think that he had matured. He had said nothing about an inheritance. He had lied to her, manipulated her. He had convinced her to travel halfway across the world, causing her to leave her job, leave her friends and family. She was being humiliated, being judged, being treated horribly, all so he could get some money?

 _Good enough to be a Carlyle?_ What did that mean? Did Phillip not think that a mixed race dancer from New Orleans, with no wealth and no prestigious title, would be good enough to introduce to his parents? Is that why he lied about where she lived, and asked her to lie about her career? Did he not want to be embarrassed by her? Miss out on his inheritance because of her?

Anne was fuming. Just when she thought that he had feelings for her, she discovers that the whole trip had been a lie. She had slept with him, made herself as vulnerable as she possibly could, and he’d been deceiving her the whole time.

Suddenly, the doors swung open and in walked the group from the Bachelor Party. Anne spotted Phillip, and immediately she knew that things weren’t right. His eyes weren’t focusing properly, and he was stumbling on his feet. She rushed over to him, and could smell the alcohol on his clothes. He was drunk.

“Phillip, what have you done?” she exclaimed, holding him up.

He looked at her, and grinned, a wide, toothy grin. “Annie!” he cried, reaching his hands out to hold her face. He planted a sloppy kiss on her lips, and she pulled back, a mixture of concern and anger swirling inside her.

“Why are you drinking? You can’t drink!” Phillip didn’t say anything, and it was only infuriating her further. She pushed him off her, forcefully, and his blissful expression dropped from his face. “I know about the money. That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it? You lied to me, this whole time."

This brought him somewhat into consciousness. “I need the money, Anne, I . . . need the money."

That was all he could say. She could feel tears stinging her eyes, and she felt a sob rising in her throat. “I’ve loved you . . . this whole time, and you’ve . . . you’ve been lying."

With that she left the bar. Anne jumped in the first taxi that passed, and through her cries, she asked the driver to take her back to the hotel. Holding her heels in her hand, she rode the elevator up to their floor, and pulled out her key to the room. She stepped inside, and let out all her emotions. Sobbing, she collapsed onto the bed, clutching her chest. She felt foolish, she felt stupid, but most of all she was heartbroken.

* * *

Phillip returned home late that night. He had stayed out far longer than he had wanted. He should have chased after Anne, explained everything to her, but Spencer and the others had held him back. They told him that Anne needed space, and he had believed them. He let her go.

Walking through the door that night, he felt his heart breaking. Anne had fallen asleep on the sofa, still in her dress. Her suitcases were packed beside her, and the bottle of complimentary champagne that had been left out for them their first night in the hotel, was laying empty on the floor. Mascara stains were under her eyes, and her lipstick was smeared.

He felt responsible for everything. She had told him in the bar that she loved him, and he hadn’t said it back. He'd wanted to, he’d wanted to be able to say he loved her as long as he’d known her. Now he had messed up. He’d broken her heart, and broken his sobriety, and too intoxicated to do anything about either.

Climbing into bed, still dressed in his smart clothes, he prayed everything will be different in the morning. That when he opened his eyes, Anne would be beside him, smiling.


	7. DAY SIX.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the wedding has finally arrived.

* * *

When Phillip woke up, he prayed that it had all been a horrible dream. He even felt for Anne in the bed beside him, reaching out to see if the bed was warm - it wasn’t. His eyes shot open, and he immediately glanced towards the sofa. She was nowhere to be seen. Phillip feared she had left on a plane first thing, but when he spotted her suitcase just where she had left it, he felt his nerves sink just a little.

Sitting up, it dawned on him how things had gotten so out of hand the night before. His head was hammering, and he could feel sick rising up in his stomach. He’d had a drink - he could still taste it on his tongue. He was so furious with himself, not only for letting Anne down, but for breaking his sobriety that he thought he deserved the hangover.

He remembered a lot more about the previous evening then he thought he would. Including, Anne telling him that she loved him. The entire time, she had loved him and he was too blind and too stupid to realise. It took him having to break her heart for him to find out, when it was too late to admit that he loved her too. She wouldn’t believe him now, or wouldn’t trust him, and Phillip didn’t know what was worse.

Phillip knew Anne well enough by now to know that if something was troubling her, she would go for a run to clear her head. He assumed that’s where she had disappeared to, and decided to call room service, ordering breakfast to surprise her with. She would have to come back to shower and get changed, so he wanted to wait and explain everything, properly, to her over coffee and muffins.

Waiting proved to be a lot harder than Phillip had anticipated. He felt not only racked with guilt, but sick to his stomach to, his head pounding. Downing a glass of water, and taking two painkillers, he hoped that it would dull the nausea. He glanced in the mirror, and saw how dreadful he looked; bags under his eyes, pale skin, and chapped lips. Sighing, he splashed water on his face, as he heard the door click open.

Anne was stood in the doorway, out of breath, dressed in a pair of black leggings, and a matching sports bra. Her hair, which was still straight from the previous night, was tied back in a slick ponytail, and her skin was glistening with sweat. She still looked gorgeous, sweaty and make-up free.

She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead disappearing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Phillip was left, holding the tray of steaming coffee and array of muffins. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he had hoped that she wasn’t going to completely blank him.

Suddenly, the door opened again, and Anne appeared, eyes blazing.

“I don’t know why I expected you to actually have feelings like that for me,” she told him, her voice firm and her expression steely. “Not when you’re just like the others."

“The others, as in . . . my family?” Phillip muttered. His face fell at the comparison. “Please, I promise I’m nothing like them. I hate that you think that."

Anne scoffed. “So, what’s with all the lies? You asked me to say I was a ballroom dancer, not so you didn’t upset your parents, but because you’re embarrassed by the theatre. By me. That’s why you told them I live in the nice end of Harlem, and that my brother is in Paris. Admit it, I’m not good enough to be a Carlyle. Good enough for you, am I?"

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you!” Phillip exclaimed. "I . . . I like you, Anne. I really like you. Truthfully, I’m in - "

Anne didn’t let him finish his sentence. She couldn’t bear it. Her hardened composure was starting to crack, and he could see her lip beginning to quiver. “Don’t,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t say something you can’t take back."

Phillip tried to step closer to her, reaching out to hold her hand. She flinched at his touch. “I wouldn’t want to take it back,” he said, softly. “Anne, I love you."

Shaking her head, she backed away from him. Tears were falling from her eyes. “You’re just saying that,” she murmured. “You don’t mean it. You can’t mean it."

She walked around him, holding her head in her hands. Getting desperate, Phillip didn’t want to see her hurting anymore. “What can I do to prove it? Please, I can’t see you like this - "

“I slept with you!” she cried, her voice cracking. “I was as vulnerable as someone can be with another person, and you’ve been lying this whole time! I’ve stood by as your family and so-called friends hurl insults at me - racist insults! I’ve never said anything, because I wanted this trip to go as well as possible for you. I spent money I don’t have on dresses for this stupid wedding. I left my brother for this. I’ve never been apart from him for this long."

Phillip couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could do was stare at Anne, watching as she fell more and more apart.

“I’ve gone through so much for you, sacrificed so much for you. Everything I’ve done on this trip has been for you, and you couldn’t even stay sober."

Her face was a picture of distress. It was breaking his heart. She retreated onto the balcony, and Phillip decided to follow her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, wanting nothing more than to pull her close to him, and hold her until she stopped crying. Instead, she pulled away from his touch, and held onto the railing. She was trying to steady her breathing, holding back the sobs. The ring on her finger was glinting in the sunlight.

“I’ll keep the act up for tonight,” she told him, monotonously. “It’s only Emily and your parents who know the truth. But the second we get home, I’m handing my notice in at the theatre."

“No, you don’t have to do that,” he tried, but she wasn’t listening.

“It’s for the best."

* * *

Phillip let Anne have her space for the rest of the day. He spent majority of his time in the gym, or walking on the beach. He didn’t want to be around anybody, not in the mood to plaster on a smile and pretend that everything was alright. Not when everything was the opposite of alright.

He walked through the lobby, and decided to go for a swim in the pool outside. He needed to clear his head, and he’d had yet to use the pool. Throwing a towel onto one of the sun loungers, he dived immediately into the deep end. Swimming length after length, he found that the sensation of water running through his fingers was a calming one.

After twenty-five lengths, he stopped to catch his breath. Leaning on the side of the pool, he admired the view in front of him. The sea was peaceful, a dazzling shade of blue. Turning his head, he could see the beach bar, and something caught his attention. Anne was stood at the bar, leaning on the counter, dressed in just her yellow bikini. She was looking beautiful, her skin glowing. Barefoot, she had her hand resting on Jared’s arm, one of the other groomsmen. He was wearing just a pair of swimming trunks, and his muscles were looking especially impressive.

Gritting his teeth, Phillip watched as Anne threw her head back and laughed at something Jared said. Jared wasn’t funny, he’d never been funny. So why was Anne laughing at his jokes? And why was her hand on his forearm, as if she wanted to be closer to him. Watching closely, he saw her flip her hair over her shoulder, as she flashed him a heart-stopping grin.

Oh God, she was flirting with him. The scene was infuriating Phillip, who knew Jared far too well to know where this ended. He saw Jared’s expression, how his eyes were drinking her in, his tongue gliding across his bottom lip, and knew that he clearly felt some type of way about Anne.

Jumping out of the pool, Phillip didn’t even dry himself before bounding over to the bar. Anne spotted him, her eyes going wide, but she didn’t step away from Jared. He grinned at the pair, though he was anything but happy, and slipped his arm around Anne’s waist. She flinched from him, and when Jared furrowed his brow, she laughed it off.

“You’re soaking!” she exclaimed, playfully pushing Phillip away. Despite her cool exterior, he could see her eyes, and knew that she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Tough. They were supposed to be a couple, for appearance’s sake, so she couldn’t me stood around flirting with other men. Not when it was driving Phillip insane with jealousy.

“This looks cosy,” Phillip said, gesturing between Jared and Anne. He narrowed his eyes at Jared, who merely grinned back, smugly.

“Anne was just promising me a dance tonight,” he answered.

One glance at Anne proved to Phillip that Jared was telling the truth. She didn’t even look guilty. To be honest, he couldn’t blame her.

She laughed. “Only if you buy me a drink first,” she replied, biting her lip.

The second Anne bit her lip, Phillip felt his resolve break. He leant across and kissed her, taking her by surprise. His hand rested on her back, the other on her cheek. Her hands were by her side, and he worried that she was going to push him off. Instead, she kissed back. It wasn’t as passionate as their others had been, nor was it as warm. It was filled with emotion; mostly anger on Anne’s part. She even nipped at his lips with her teeth.

“What was that for?” she asked, pulling back. Her lips were swollen slightly, and her cheeks flushed.

“I couldn’t resist,” he shrugged. “You just look so . . . good."

She blushed even more, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He could see she was frustrated with herself for kissing him, and even more wound up for letting it affect her.

Turning back to Jared, who was watching the pair of them with little curiosity, he smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have to talk to my fiancé alone. Something very important."

Nodding, Jared started to walk away. He winked at Anne, causing Phillip’s blood to boil. “I’ll see you tonight, Anne,” he muttered, and left.

When Jared was out of earshot, Phillip took Anne’s hand in his, and sighed. “What the hell were you doing talking with him?"

Anne pulled her hand free from his grip, and crossed her arms. “He was just being friendly,” she replied, her tone harsh. “We’re not actually together, remember? I can do what I want."

“Please, I’m just trying to look out for you,” he sighed. “I know what Jared’s like - he’s certainly not _friendly_. He’s only trying to get you into bed - "

“Oh, and God forbid I sleep with anybody that’s not you!” Anne cried. She was starting to cause a scene, but she didn’t care. “If this trip has taught me anything, it’s that pretty boys like you and Jared aren’t good for anything else but a quick fix at night. You should be glad, it means you’re free to sleep with whoever you want. Emily’s single, I’m sure she’ll welcome you back into her bed. It’s all she talked about all week!"

Her comments did hurt him. He hated that she viewed him like that, as someone she wasn’t capable of experiencing emotions with. That night he had spent with her was about more than just there bodies, about the lust that had overcome them. It was about sharing something passionate, something tender and special with her. He wanted to make her feel good, he wanted her to feel desired.

“You know that’s not what I want,” he muttered, looking into her eyes. The chocolate brown orbs softened, and for a split second he thought she believed him.

Shaking her head, she started to walk back to the hotel. “Whatever, I’m going to get ready for the wedding. It starts in two hours."

* * *

Phillip knocked on the room to their hotel door, not wanting to walk in on Anne getting changed. It wouldn’t help things, and it would only give her something else about him to despise. Instead, he waited patiently outside, tapping his foot on the floor. He had gotten dressed into his Best Man suit in Ashlee and Spencer’s room, for they had brought it with them. Ashlee was with her bridesmaids, whilst Spencer was getting drunk by himself in their room, trying to coax Phillip into having some. Fortunately, he had the good sense to say no this time.

He hadn’t forgiven Spencer for the stunt he had pulled. Not only had it cost him his friendship, and potential relationship, with Anne, but he had broken his sobriety, something he had valued and revered for months. Phillip was vulnerable now. He’d had his first taste of liquor in such a long time, and the restraint he was taking to stop himself from having another drink was draining.

Anne swung the door open, her expression slipping when she saw who was on the other side. She sighed, and walked back into their room, continuing to get ready. She sat in front of the vanity mirror, whilst Phillip stepped inside. He stood behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror, hands tucked into his pocket.

She was breathtaking, as usual. She was wearing a pretty, pastel pink dress, that had a low back and modest front. On her feet she wore ivory white heels, something Phillip knew his mother would comment on. Her hair was curly - not her usual, tight curls, but soft and bouncy. She had tied her half her hair up, so that it cascaded down the back of her head. Her make-up was dainty; her lips a dusky pink, her eyeshadow matching.

Phillip couldn’t help it; he had to tell her she looked lovely. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, watching as she put in some delicate, little earrings. The ring was still on her finger.

She caught his eye in the mirror, and swallowed. “Stop saying things like that,” she sighed. “We don’t have to pretend anymore."

“I’m not pretending,” he tried to explain, but she got up, reaching for her purse.

“You smell like alcohol,” she scolded. Even when she was trying to pretend not to care, he could hear in her voice that she was concerned.

“I was with Spencer,” he told her. “He had my suit, so I got changed in his room. He’d already finished three bottles of beer by the time I’d arrived. I promise, I never touched a drop."

Anne’s eyes scanned his body as he spoke, looking at the suit in question. It was a particularly fine suit, a charcoal black jacket with white handkerchief square, and matching black trousers. He had on a white shirt underneath, and black shoes. His hair was styled in his preferred quiff, and had shaved, so that his face was smooth and smart.

As though satisfied with his answer, Anne brushed past him to get to the door. Phillip reached out and took a hold of her wrist, pulling her close to him. “Please Anne, it’s tearing me apart us not being . . . well, us. You can’t even look at me, not like you used to."

“There never was an us!” she exclaimed, sounding exasperated. “You’re my boss! Your name is on the checks I use to pay my rent. I was kidding myself if I thought we were ever gonna work. Until a few days ago, I only ever called you Mr Carlyle."

“That’s because I kept my feelings to myself. I should have told you everything. I should have kissed you every day, I should have told you that you’re beautiful everyday. I've ruined everything, because I was too scared to say anything."

His hand was still wrapped around Anne’s wrist, their faces inches apart. He leant in, slowly, not wanting to scare her off. Closing her eyes, she brushed her lips against his, barely for a second, before breaking free.

“Call me Phillip . . . please,” he asked her, softly. She hadn’t said his name since she found him in the bar, and he missed the way it rolled off her tongue. She was going to go back to calling him Mr Carlyle, and he worried that he was never going to hear her say it again.

“I can’t,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his. “It hurts too much."

With that, she pulled away, and disappeared out of the door.

They walked down to the room where the wedding was being held, and the second they saw other guests, Anne’s arm slipped in his. She kissed his cheek as he left to stand by Spencer’s side, and she took her seat. Spencer was barely able to stand up straight, and Phillip had to prop him up. Most of the guests ignored Anne, glancing out of the side of their eyes at her. It made him feel heavyhearted, seeing her treated so poorly.

The music began, and they all stood to watch Ashlee walk down the aisle, her bridesmaids in tow. Ashlee was positively glowing, her dress making her look like an angel. She was beaming, though Phillip could see her happiness slip when she saw the state of Spencer. He truly felt sorry for her.

The ceremony went as well as it possibly could, considering Spencer was slurring his ‘I do’s’. They all then retreated into the ballroom, where tables and waiters were waiting for them with dinner. Phillip sat on the top table, whereas Anne was relegated to the back table again. He saw her fiddling with her napkin, trying to figure out which knife and fork to use for what course. He felt pity for her, and wanted to run over and comfort her.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He remembered how she had pulled away from him before, telling him that it hurt her to say his name, and he felt the urge to drink again.

* * *

Anne wasn’t in the mood to fake smile at the wedding guests, pretending to be happy for a couple that was destined to fail. Not when she could feel Phillip watching her from across the room. Instead, she made a beeline for the bar and leant on the counter, as the bartender made her a gin and tonic. She could feel somebody sidle up next to her, and her first instinct was that it was Phillip.

Turning her head, she was surprised to see it was Mr Carlyle. The man who had barely spoken a word to her since she'd arrived in Jamaica. He pulled out a a little black book, and a pen.

“Can I help you?” she asked, not sure what else to say.

“How much money is it going to take for you to leave Phillip?” he inquired, his tone stern and businesslike.

Anne was stunned. Was this really how little they thought of her? They knew the engagement wasn’t real, so why was he trying to bribe her to leave his son alone? It didn’t make sense.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about?"

Mr Carlyle huffed, as he gave her a narrow-eyed look. “We know you’re just some dancer he brought along to play happy families,” he began. “You may not even like him much, just his money. But I know my son. I see how he looks at you, hear how he talks about you. He’s in love with you."

Anne really wasn’t sure how to react. Could Phillip really love her? His parents couldn’t know that much about him - they’d barely been in his life. Yet here was his father, telling her his son loved her.

“Why are you trying to pay me off?"

“You’re not good enough for him,” he answered, simply. “You wouldn’t fit into this family. You’d only distract him from what’s important, you’ll keep him at that stupid theatre of his. I have to make sure he stays focused, you understand? Somebody has to take over the family business when I’m gone."

There it was again; _‘you’re not good enough for him’_. The more Anne heard it, the more she believed it.

She downed her drink in one gulp, and slammed the glass on the table. “I’m not gonna take a damn penny of you,” she hissed. “Don’t worry, after this trip I’m never gonna see him again."

* * *

Phillip had been sulking for far too long. He got up, and tried looking around for Anne. She wasn’t at her table, and nobody had seen her for a while. She had ignored him all evening, avoiding his eye contact. Frowning, he stepped outside for some air, hoping he’d bump into her, when he spotted two shadows behind a palm tree.

Curious, he walked over. What he found behind the tree, however, made him wish he’d just stayed inside.

Anne was pressed up against the tree trunk, her hands in Jared’s hair, his hands roaming her body. Their lips were locked together, as they kissed each other sloppily and hungrily. The sight of her with another man was enough to make Phillip’s heart sink, jealousy bubbling up inside his chest. He balled his fists up by his side, and tightened his jaw.

“Anne!” he cried.

The pair broke apart immediately, but one look at them told Phillip that they were both too intoxicated to care they had been caught.

“Hey, Phil, man can your fiancé kiss,” Jared slurred, a lopsided grin on his face.

Phillip didn’t hesitate in punching Jared straight in the law, where Anne’s lipstick stains were peppering his skin. He stumbled to the floor, and scrambled away, shouting curse word after curse word. Jared could always talk a big talk, but when it actually came down to coming true on his words, he never pulled through. He also knew that he could never take Phillip in a fight.

Anne was slapping his shoulder and back, furious for interrupting her. She was shouting at him, and he was taken aback by how much anger and hostility she was harbouring towards him. He tried to calm her down, but tears were streaming down her cheeks, and he realised that this was about far more than some silly kiss.

“You can’t do that!” she yelled, her voice unsteady. “Stop pretending like you care! Stop . . . "

Phillip took her hands in his, and stopping her from hitting him anymore. “I do care."

“No, you don’t! You . . . broke my heart! If you cared, you wouldn’t have broken my heart."

Her words stung, and he knew that she was right. He should have been more careful, he should have thought things through properly. He pulled her in for a hug, wrapping his arms around her. She resisted him initially, but gave in, resting her head against his chest. Usually, she was taller than him, but in his arms she felt tiny.

After what felt like ages, Phillip heard her snoring faintly. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her bridal style up to their room, her head on his shoulder. He unlocked the door to their room, and threw back the sheets. Laying Anne down gently, he pulled the duvet over her, and then an extra blanket. He stroked her cheek, admiring how pretty she was.

When he’d finished brushing his teeth and washing his face, he put on his pyjamas and laid down on the sofa. He could see Anne’s chest rising and falling, as she slept peacefully.

He fell asleep, hoping that the next day would be different.


	8. DAY SEVEN.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their last day in Jamaica . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left after this! I'm glad people are enjoying it, I love reading everyone's lovely comments.

* * *

Anne couldn’t get out of the hotel room fast enough. She changed, quickly, out of her pyjamas into her blue sweatpants and white jumper, careful not to make a sound. Brushing her teeth and washing her face, she didn’t have time to apply any make-up. Instead, she scribbled a quick note on the provided pad of paper, taking off the ring, and turned to leave the room, her suitcase in tow.

She allowed herself one last look at Phillip. He seemed so peaceful in his sleep, she was suddenly overcome with a wave of guilt. How could she leave him behind? His lips were parted slightly, and she remembered how they had fitted so perfectly with hers. His hands gripped the thin blanket covering his body, and she shuddered at the memory of those hands running up and down her body, and how they had held her close.

Then, the events of the previous day flooded her mind. How Phillip had told her he loved her, how he had spent the whole day trying to apologise. She was beginning to regret not listening to him, when his father approached her, and offered to buy her silence. That last action was just the cherry on top of the cake - more evidence that Anne needed to wake up from her deluded daydream that her and Phillip could ever be a possibility.

Shaking her head, and wiping a tear from her cheek, she walked away. She left the room, a war waging inside her.

As the elevator doors closed, Anne tried not to dwell on the possible mistake she was making. Did she believe that Phillip truly loved her? She couldn’t bring herself to think about it. She was afraid the answer would cause her to turn back around.

Stepping out into the lobby, she bumped into somebody who stunk of alcohol. Anne took one look at them, and realised it was Spencer, still in his suit and tie. He grinned when he caught sight of her, his eyes barely able to focus.

“Going somewhere, Annie?” he slurred.

Anne rolled her eyes. “Have you even gone to bed yet?"

“Ashlee kicked me out,” he sighed, his grin slipping. “Said that I’d humiliated her by turning up to our wedding drunk. Do you know what that means?"

“That you have a drinking problem?"

Spencer chuckled, though Anne could hear it was forced. He closed the gap between them, sliding his hands around her waist. “That I’ve been robbed of my wedding night,” he told her, in a low voice. It was making her feel nauseous, and she tried to back away, but his grip was tight and unrelenting. “Come on, Jared said you were more than willing to open your legs to him last night."

His behaviour was starting to scare her. He wasn’t letting her go, his breath foul and his eyes lecherous. She was pushing against his chest, but it only appeared to be encouraging him. Anne knew that she had had quite a bit to drink the previous night, but not enough to know what she did and didn’t do; and she certainly did not sleep with Jared. Was that what he was telling people? It had just been a kiss, and a rather bad one at that.

“Please, stop,” she pleaded, her voice a little shaky. She was trying to be tough, but given everything she was going through, she didn’t have the energy to put up much of a fight.

Spencer leant in, his lips brushing her ear. “We don’t have to tell Phillip."

“Get off me. I don’t want this!"

* * *

Phillip’s eyes flickered open, and the first thing he saw was the empty bed. He shot up, and scanned the room for any sign of Anne. She wasn’t there, and neither was her suitcase. His heart was pounding, and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him when he spotted a white sheet of paper on the bed, the engagement ring placed on top. Anne had written him a note, which he read feverishly.

_To Phillip,_

_Thank you for the holiday. You know how I feel about you, and I think we both know that if I stay any longer we’ll both do something we regret. It’s too hard for me being here. I’ll hand in my notice tomorrow at the theatre, and you won’t have to see me again. It’s for the best._

_I know I’m not good enough for you. I can't spend my entire life proving to you, or your family, that I am. My heart won’t be able to take it._

_I hope that you spend that money wisely._

_Anne._

He reread the words over and over, hoping that he was imagining them. The sentence that got to him the most was the one where she admitted that she _‘knew she wasn’t good enough for him’._ It made him feel sick. If anything, it was the other way around; he didn’t deserve her.

He threw on the first pair of shoes he could find, not bothering to change out of his pyjamas, and opened the door. He prayed that he could catch Anne before she disappeared. He wanted, no needed, to explain everything to her.

What he saw however was worse than just her retreating figure. Anne was in the lobby, Spencer’s carnal hands all over her, as she protested. Due to the early hours, there wasn’t another soul in sight, except for a sleepy receptionist, so Anne’s cries were falling on deaf ears.

Phillip ran to her aid, blood boiling. Just as he had pulled Jared off of her, though in different circumstances, he ripped Spencer off of her, throwing him to the ground. Anne was shaking, tears spilling from her eyes.

“Leave her alone!” he roared.

Spencer merely laughed, shrugging. “She was begging for it, Phil. Couldn’t keep her hands off - "

Before Spencer could finish the lie he was spewing, Phillip reached out to punch him, when Anne caught his fist.

“Don’t,” she muttered. He could feel her hands trembling, and the fear in her eyes was enough to calm him. “Please, don’t."

He took her hand, and led her outside, pulling her suitcase. He called a taxi over, and opened the door for her. “What are you doing?” she inquired, with furrowed eyebrows.

“We’re going, now,” he told her, determinedly. “I don’t want you around these people anymore."

She laughed, a shaky one that suggested she found the situation anything but funny. “You’re in your pyjamas! You don’t have your suitcase! Don't be ridiculous."

Phillip waved her concerns off. “It’s fine, I’ll sort it out. This is more important. _You're more important._ "

Anne placed a hand on his chest, and his breath hitched in his throat. “I’m going,” she said, softly. “You’re staying here. You need to talk to your parents, fix this whole inheritance mess."

He tried to protest, but she shook her head. “Don’t make this harder than it already is." She couldn’t look him in the eyes.

Then, she climbed into the taxi, suitcase with her. Phillip could only watch as it drove off. Without hesitating, he hailed another cab, and jumped in the back, instructing the driver to follow Anne’s.

When he arrived at the airport, he ran inside, scouring the crowd for Anne. He spotted her curly hair over the top of a queue of holiday-makers.

“Anne!” he called out to her.

Her head whipped around, and frowned. She opened her mouth to say something, but Phillip ran over and wrapped his arms around her, planting a kiss on her lips. It was electric. His hands pulled her waist towards him, wanting to feel her against him once again, her hands flat against his chest. The distance, both physical and emotional, over the last couple of days had been torment for him. He missed her, and wanted to let her know just how much he missed her.

They pulled apart, breathless. Anne pressed her forehead against his, her lips still pecking his softly.

“What are you doing?” she asked him, quietly.

“I love you,” he replied, completely genuine. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her. “I can’t let you leave thinking that I never cared about you, that this has all been an act."

Anne’s fingers grazed his jawline. “It _has_ been an act,” she muttered. "That's why you asked me to come on this trip; _to pretend_."

“I promise, I asked you to come along because I couldn’t imagine myself with anyone else,” he told her, still holding her close. “I’ve had feelings for you ever since we first met, all those months ago. It was when Barnum introduced us, do you remember? You were in the middle of a show, and you were wearing this purple dress that made you shine, and you took my breath away. You _always_ take my breath away."

“Why lie, then?"

“I admit that I’ve gone about this all wrong. I had to bring a date so my parents wouldn’t cut me off from my inheritance.” He could feel Anne start to slip away, so he planted another kiss, this time on her cheek. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, marvelling in her natural beauty. “It’s not what you think. The theatre needs that money, to pay back the investors for the theatre. Mending the roof made a dent in our earnings, and we’ve relied on loans the past few weeks just to get by. Without that inheritance, I was afraid that we wouldn’t be able to pay wages. I couldn’t let anybody down like that, I couldn’t let you down."

Her eyes found his, and he saw in her dark chocolate orbs that she believed him. They were softening, as she gasped.

“Why didn’t you tell your parents the truth about me though? About where I live and what I do?"

“I worried that they’d judge you more than they already were, and I wanted to protect you from them,” he assured her. “I think that you’re perfect, and that it’s me who’s going to have prove every day to you for the rest of our lives that I’m good enough for you. That is, if you’ll have me?"

A beam broke out onto her face, and she pulled him in for another kiss that Phillip took to be a yes. He smiled into her lips, wanting to never leave that moment.

“Call me Phillip, please,” he whispered. The desire to hear her say his name was building up like an ache in the pit of his stomach.

“Tell me you love me again,” she replied, her tongue running across her lips.

Shuddering, Phillip ran his thumb across her cheek. “I love you, Anne."

“I love you too, _Phillip_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for cheesy airport scenes.


	9. EPILOGUE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy that this is at an end, because I can't wait to start writing another story for you all. It's going to be just like this, but in reverse where Phillip pretends to be Anne's boyfriend for her friend's wedding. Of course it'll be different, and I hope you'll all give it a chance?
> 
> Thank you for being so lovely and supportive!
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

_TWO YEARS LATER_.

Phillip awoke when he felt the weight on the bed shift, and a body slip from out of his grasp. Eyes fluttering open, he saw the naked figure of Anne walking away from the bed. A smile formed on his lips as he followed the sway of her hips, her glorious cocoa coloured skin glowing in the early morning sun. She caught sight of him staring in the vanity mirror at the foot of the bed, and flashed him a dazzling grin.

She sat down at the little table, and began to dab at her skin with some moisturiser from a small bottle that she always left in his care in case she ever spent the night. Phillip couldn’t tear his eyes off of her as she ran her fingertip across her skin, gently, completely free from imperfections and flaws.

“God, you are so beautiful,” he breathed out, completely in awe of her.

Anne turned to look at him, leaning on the back of the chair. “You’re only saying that because I’ve not got any clothes on,” she teased him.

Shaking his head, he sat up, the sheets sliding down his bare chest. He spotted Anne’s eyes flit momentarily towards his abs. “You’re beautiful with or without clothes,” he told her, his voice slightly husky because he had just woken up.

“You’ve already proposed,” Anne beamed, holding up her hand and wiggling her fingers, the sparkling diamond catching in the sunlight. “No need for flattery."

Phillip chuckled softly, as Anne stood up and began to slip on her pyjama top. He stopped her by reaching out his hand and tugging on her wrist, lightly. “Where are you going?"

“I have to get back to my room before the girls come and find me,” she sighed. “Me and you were supposed to have spent the night apart, remember? Plus the ceremony is in a few hours."

He pulled her again, and Anne came tumbling on top of him, her hair tickling his face. They both laughed, until Phillip’s lips caught hers in a kiss. His hands roamed her back, whilst hers rested against his chest. She nipped at his lips with her teeth, as his tongue slipped in. It was playful, and it was passionate. Then, he began to kiss down her neck, focusing on the spot just below her jawline that never failed to make her moan.

“Phillip . . . oh, Phillip . . . stop,” she murmured against his skin. “I have to go."

However, she made no attempt to back away. Her hands were roaming through his hair, tugging her into his lap as he sat up. She was straddling him, nothing between them, as they continued to kiss.

A half hour later, Anne finally broke free, her hair even more tangled than before, her cheeks flushed. Phillip was lying on the bed, panting, his arms by his side. Pulling herself off of him, she pecked him softly, and ran her hand down his chest before climbing out of bed. Once again Phillip was entranced by her, watching her walk away.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“I need a shower,” she replied. After a moment, she paused, and turned her head to throw him a sultry smirk. “You not coming?"

She didn't need to ask twice.

* * *

Phillip had heard of men overcome with nerves on their wedding day as they waited at the altar for their soon-to-be-bride. However, he felt nothing but happiness. Happy, because he was getting to marry his best friend. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with anybody apart from Anne, and was excited to start that life together. They’d already talked about children in the near future, they had a cosy apartment in New York, and her family adored him. Everything was perfect. What did he have to be afraid of? Anne was everything he had ever wanted, and so much more.

He tugged on his light brown suit, his thin white cotton shirt providing some relief from the summer heat. He wore flip flops on his feet, much to the guests’ amusement. He knew Anne wouldn’t mind, in fact, he knew she would encourage it and find it as funny as the rest.

They’d travelled back to Jamaica for the wedding. In fact, it was even the same hotel. The whole circus had flown out to join them, and Anne’s family of course. They had invited his parents, more out of courtesy than anything, but of course they had declined it. It didn’t matter; everybody that was important was there.

Beside him stood Barnum, clutching the wedding rings as though his life depended on it. As Best Man, he was doing a marvellous job, going above and beyond what was expected of him. Charity was sat in the front row, in a lovely pale blue dress. Her hair was pin-straight, and down, falling about her shoulders. She was beaming at Phillip.

Suddenly, he heard soft music, and the guests all stood. Phillip felt his heart jump into his throat when he saw Anne standing at the end of the aisle, her brother on her arm and the Barnum daughters in front of her, throwing little flower petals. She looked unbelievable. Her dress was ivory-coloured, and it was flowing yet fitted in all the right places. The bodice was lace, and the thin straps and low back exposed her shoulders and back. Her glowing, golden skin made her look even more angelic. Her naturally curly chocolate, brown hair was tied up in a sleek bun, making her cheekbones even more prominent. She was even barefoot too.

Phillip was tongue-tied. He had always thought Anne was beautiful, the most beautiful girl in any room, but there was something about seeing her in a wedding dress that made him feel like a lovestruck teenager. She was so incredibly enticing and endearing that he knew immediately that he couldn’t imagine ever loving anybody else. As she walked towards him, biting on her lip, a grin playing on her irresistible lips, he couldn’t wait to marry her.

W. D. kissed his sister on the forehead as he took a step backwards. Anne’s hand found Phillip's, and he squeezed. As the minister talked, addressing the crowd, he couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t tear his eyes away from his soon-to-be wife. She was blushing somewhat now, but met his gaze with the exact same passion.

“We are here to witness the union of Phillip Bailey Carlyle, and Anne Simone Wheeler,” the minister began. “Please, repeat after me; _‘I, Phillip Bailey Carlyle’_."

“I, Phillip Bailey Carlyle,” he said, with an immovable grin.

“ _Take you, Anne Simone Wheeler._ "

He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, as she smiled back at him. “Take you, Anne Simone Wheeler."

“ _To have and to hold._ "

He felt a little shiver go down his back as it dawned him how real everything was. How close he was to being married to the love of his life. “To have and to hold."

_“For better for worse."_

_“For richer for poorer."_

_“In sickness and in health._

_“To love."_

_“To cherish."_

_“As long as we both shall live."_

Then it was Anne’s turn to repeat the words, and Phillip never felt happier. Hearing her say everything in that honey-drenched, caramel-dipped accent of hers made it all the more special.

“Do you, Phillip Bailey Carlyle, take Anne Simone Wheeler to be your lawful wedded wife?"

He didn’t even need to think about his answer, it just came rolling off his tongue, before the minister could even finish asking him the question. “I do.” The crowd laughed a little at his eagerness, as did Anne. He slipped the ring on her finger, a stunning diamond one, and thought back to all those years ago when he had given one very similar to her as part of an act. He grinned now, knowing it was all reality.

“Do you Anne Simone Wheeler take Phillip Bailey Carlyle to be your lawful wedded husband?"

Anne nodded, a small tear falling from her eyes, and he knew that she was remembering that fateful trip too. “I do,” she replied, in a quiet but steady voice, still smiling bright at him. She put Phillip’s ring on his finger. It wasn’t all that common, for men to wear wedding rings, but Phillip had jumped at the chance to have one, wanting to tell the whole world that he was taken.

The minister could barely get out the words; “You may now kiss the bride,” before Anne threw her arms around him and kissed him, passionately. Beaming into the embrace, Phillip wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close. The crowd started to cheer, but the newlyweds were still kissing.

* * *

Lanterns were hung around the small area on the beach where they had decided to hold their reception, as the moon shone in the sky above them. A jazz band, at the special request of Anne and her family, were playing on the stage, as the guests all danced on the sand. Anne and Phillip were in the middle of everyone, clutching onto one another. They hadn’t spent a second apart since they had said ‘I do’.

Etta James’ _‘At Last’_ played in the background, and Phillip could hear Anne softly humming along. Her head was resting against his chest, their hands clasped together as they swayed.

“My mama had this record,” she told him, gently. “I’d play it as a little girl, and just close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to love somebody so deeply."

Lifting her head, she looked him straight in the eyes. “At last I know."

Phillip caught her cheek in a kiss, peppering little kissed all along her jawline. She giggled softly, and then moaned, and he pulled back. “I can’t believe I can call you my wife,” he sighed, in disbelief. “ _Mrs Carlyle_."

She bit her lip again, and caressed the back of his neck. “Well, get used to it, _Mr Carlyle_ , because I ain’t going nowhere."


End file.
